


A Glader's Christmas Carol

by comebacknow



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: 3 years after TDC, Canon Compliant, Christmas AU, Gen, Gratuitous OCs, OCs - Freeform, This is really shoddily written but maybe one day ill actually fix it, Thomas is Scrooge, characterization is off but it's an AU sooooo there's that, christmas carol au, gratuitous classic christmas carol lines, holiday au, listen thomas is a jerk but just go with it, past newtmas, post tdc, sonyarriet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 16:04:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17124458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comebacknow/pseuds/comebacknow
Summary: It's been three years since Thomas and the others have joined the Safe Haven.  Vince has put Thomas in charge - being that it will one day be their future - and Thomas has taken on the responsibility fully.  He remembers how the Glade was built, so he knows how the Haven should be run.  But somewhere along the line, it may have gotten the better of him.  Now, the night before Havenday, he's got a chance to make things right.





	1. The Safe Haven

**Author's Note:**

> I'm obsessed with A Christmas Carol. There are multiple easter eggs and lines from the original so bonus points if you find them. I'm sorry Thomas is such a dick, but forgive him. <3 
> 
> Chapter one is a different POV, but everything else is in Thomas'. I had fun with it. Just bear with me lol
> 
>  
> 
> Merry Christmas & various other holiday greetings! 
> 
> Warm drinks fuel my writing.  
> http://ko-fi.com/comebacknow
> 
> Say hi on Twitter at @WritingBia !

 

** A Glader’s Christmas Carol **

**  
**

****

 

Stave One: The Safe Haven

 

First, and most importantly, you must understand that those who have died do, in fact, remain as dead as a doornail.  By the nature of the world, that is how it has always worked and so it always will.  It is also very important for the story you are about to read that you understand that ninety percent of the people Thomas has met in his life have had the misfortune of dying.  With that knowledge, we begin our tale…

 

 

***

 

 

            The Safe Haven was a small strip of land Southward down the remains of the Pacific Sea.  Long ago, it may have been an ocean but time will do as time does, and nature will do as nature does.  Things have changed.  The Sun Flares, the disease.  Well, you know that story…

 

            Our story takes place in this so-called Safe Haven.  Unfortunately, the Flare has not fully died out – though WCKD has been defeated and is no longer capturing children and teens alike.  There are still newcomers finding refuge here in the Safe Haven with friends – but it’s not all good.  After all, you can’t see when someone has been infected until it’s too late.  There still hasn’t been a cure presented and with no one here to truly know how to manifest one, they only have the temporary serum.  And even that is running out.

 

Still, life goes on as it can.  The Haveners have built themselves a place where they can start over and begin a new life.  Bustling around tending to gardens and building tents and huts down the shoreline. Sticking to a pretty stable schedule, meeting others and expanding interests and sharing knowledge.  Children grow, teens blossom and young adults begin to thrive and create a life of their own.  Yes, the Safe Haven has become a paradise of sorts.  For some.

 

For one individual, it has become a wretched place, a prison – just like he was born into.  Thomas has only ever known fear and entrapment.  Stuck in a rattling box and thrown to a pack of wolves in a walled-in field.  Sent through a maze like a rat only to find the world itself had become a prison.  Sand and chaos, destruction and above all: death.  Death of family, death of those who were once brothers and friends, even, perhaps, lovers.

 

WCKD was gone, but so were a lot of people.  Important people.  And for Thomas, he didn’t see the point in being happy anymore - in being content and okay with how the world was.  As far as he was concerned, he had three things that were to be held above all else: a carved wooden doll, a necklace and, of course, The Cure itself.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Peter put all of his strength into his arms as he pressed the shovel into the dirt once more.  The sound of metal against earth was almost a comfort by now: the repetition of it.  It reminded him that he was here and not stuck somewhere back in the Scorch where he’d spent so many years before fighting for survival.  Now, he only fought the Earth on days it decided to be tough.

            He tossed the dirt behind him and leaned on his shovel, taking a breath.  He used a dirty forearm to wipe the sweat from his forehead before he turned to look over his shoulder.  Through the sliver of moonlight through the trees, he could see the expanse of the forest floor. And jutting from the floor every few feet were stones.  Large stones with names carved in each one.  Some were still fresh, but some had been there for months.  Some even before he’d arrived in the Safe Haven.  Some he had no memory of.

            “Oi!”

            He turned back to his counterpart, Ricky.  

            “Let’s get back to work, I don’t wanna be here all night.”

            Peter looked down at the half-dug hole in the ground and took a deep breath.  In with the shovel, out with the dirt.  Repeat. 

            Ricky sniffed and exhaled a breath, nearly as drained as Peter was.  “Lauren wants this done by morning.  Doesn’t wanna look at Sam much longer.  Can’t say I blame her,” he said through his heaving breaths as he continued to dig. “Could you imagine walking past a tent every day knowing your boyfriend is dead inside? And not even in his _normal_ state.” In with the shovel, out with the dirt. “But all Cranked out?” Repeat. “Guess it’ll happen to the lot of them, though.” In with the shovel. “Once you hit that two-serum limit,” out with the dirt, “better start getting your goodbyes ready.” Repeat.  “You know, I heard she was gonna ask for a third.”

            Peter paused, shovel in the dirt, and looked up at Ricky.

            “Yep,” Ricky nodded at him.  “Went right to Thomas’ hut and everything.  That’s how you know she was new here,” he shook his head. “Poor girl.”

            “He didn’t give it to her?” Peter asked.

            “Wouldn’t be digging if he had now, would we?” Ricky shrugged. “You think he’d give out extra serum? Ha! Boy’s as strict as they come. _Do your part_ and all that, y’know?” He sniffed again and pushed his shovel into the dirt.  “Anyway, I just hope that when his day comes long in the future, I’m not the one in charge of his grave.  If it were up to me?  I’d send his body in the Sea with this shovel chained to it.”

            Peter blinked at him and swallowed.  No, he supposed none of this was news to him.  Still, it unnerved him to realize this was the Safe Haven they lived in.

            In with the shovel.

            Out with the dirt.

            Repeat.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Do Your Part

            Thomas cricked his neck as he made his way over to the Gardens.  There were a lot of parts about the days he disliked, but this had to be the worst: The Rounds.  His clipboard gave him anxiety as it stared at him from the desk in his tent until he finally snatched it up and began the walk through the Safe Haven. 

            Today, it was especially annoying.  It had been three years since they’d begun life in the Safe Haven, and the Haveners had begun a sort of tradition: a holiday.  Today was the day before Havenday, and all it meant was people finding excuses to not do their jobs. Thomas heard music being made a few tents over and constantly had to remind people of the noise (and sleep) curfews, others started crafting gifts out of materials that were _supposed_ to be used to keep the Haven running (which Thomas happily reminded them in their extra hour he’d assigned them in their work stations for each item he found taken).  And worse – possibly the _worst_ , even – was whoever started this stupid rumor about snow. 

            Snow. They’d barely ever gotten rain at the Haven and some idiot wanted to run around yelling about _snow_.  No matter how many times Thomas reminded them about the world they actually lived in and how it was much different than the one that existed decades ago, they still insisted on dreaming.  And dreaming, above all else, was for the naïve. 

            And the worst dreamer of all was, of course: “Aris,” Thomas said by way of greeting as he stepped up to the rows of the garden.  He eyed the drooping plants.  “What the hell is going on here?”

            “Hey, Thomas,” he said, jogging to his side.  “How are you doing?”  
  
            “I’m here.  What’s happening to the plants?”

            Aris scratched behind his head. “Uh, well with the cold front we’ve been getting a lot of the plants haven’t gotten much sun lately.”

            Thomas blinked up at the sinking sun and then turned to Aris.  “Maybe if you and the others would stop standing around in the way of the rays it’d actually hit some of the plants.”

            Aris blinked and swallowed.  “Of course.  Sorry.”

            Thomas glanced back across the rows. “Take what you can to the kitchens before sunset.”

            “Thomas, the sunset is in about twenty minutes.”  
  
            “Well then you should probably get moving, shouldn’t you?”  He turned away and made his way to the next area on his checklist.

 

            Thomas’ gaze fell on the Med Hut across the way.  He ducked under a ladder being carried by two Haveners.  He turned as he walked to look over his shoulder and saw them laughing, a wreath hung over each of their shoulders as they continued on their way.  He rolled his eyes and continued toward the Med Hut. 

            Pushing open the straw door, he ducked under the doorway and looked around. Blonde hair flashed in his vision and he tore his gaze away.  He cleared his throat to announce his presence. “Sonya.” He demanded.  He heard a squeak in response before sand and reeds shifted to announce her making her way over.

            “Hey, Thomas!”

            He flinched as she flung arms around his neck in an embrace.

            “How are you today?”  
  
            He ducked out of the hug and kept his eyes on the ceiling.  “Fine, fine. How’s supplies? Are we okay? Are we low on anything?”  
  
            “Well,” he heard her say, “we could use a bit more aloe, but I know it’s tough with the cold weather.  Luckily, we’ve stocked up over the past few months so we should be good.  Everything else seems to be in order.  Joanie is doing well, Thomas.  You should visit her some time.”  
  
            Thomas waved a hand as he scanned the shelves.  “Everyone showed up today?”

            “Oh, yes,” Sonya answered. “On time and everything!”

            “Great, great,” he murmured. He made to leave but felt a small hand on his shoulder

            “Thomas?”

            “Yes?” he asked without turning around.

            Her hand dropped and she quietly cleared her throat.

            He took a deep breath, sighed and turned around to face her.  “What?”  He was immediately struck by her eyes – light brown with hints of gold streaming through them, blonde hair like honey and sharp cheekbones.  He blinked away. “What is it?” he demanded. “I need to see the other huts.”

            “Listen, Harriet and I are hosting a small bonfire tomorrow.”

            “Wonderful,” he grunted.

            “It’s nothing big, just for a few of us from the Mazes.  I was hoping you might show up.”

            He nearly snorted.

            “I mean it, Thomas.  We’d love if you came!  Why don’t you spend a night with friends?”

            “No thank you,” Thomas nodded.  He made to turn again, but her hand stopped him once more.

            “I really think you’d have fun, Thomas.  We all would.  Harriet and I would love if you came.”

            Thomas rolled his shoulder and knocked her hand off.  “I don’t get any of you who waste your time.”

            “What?”

            “All of you just…” he gestured at her with his hands until he found the words, “pairing off and thinking it’ll solve all of your problems.”

            Sonya shook her head confused.

            “You’ll see,” he nodded. “Things will change and you’ll learn the hard way.   This only ends in pain.  You think you’ll both always be around and then…” he shook his head. “No,” he laughed.  “I’m not coming.”  
  
            “But why?”

            “Listen, you can take your little Havenday and all your love and whatever else you guys are always going off about and leave me the hell out of it okay?”  Thomas glanced back up at her, but immediately turned away as her nostrils flared, chasing a ghost of his memories from his head. He took a deep breath and let loose a long exhale to calm himself. When he spoke, it was much quieter and calmer.  “I’m not wasting my time celebrating some holiday you all made up because you think that things will actually be good here.  That’s not how our world is, Sonya. If you all want to live in a fantasy world, then have at it.  I want nothing to do with it.  Now finish up here and close the hut down by curfew.”  He stormed from the tent and left Sonya and the other Meds behind.

            The Food Hut was its own catastrophe – and even that was putting it lightly.  Thomas stepped through eyeing the counters and floor and mostly kept his hands to himself.  He was afraid to touch pretty much anything here. 

            “Thomas!” Frypan laughed from the sink.  “Come on over! Just finishing up some dishes!”

            Thomas could feel his lip twitch up on one side at the smell of the garbage as he walked past.  “Frypan.”

            “Before you even ask, I’ll let you know,” he laughed, arms deep in sudsy water.  “Dishes are gettin’ done now, Kevin’s out back with one trash bag soon to be back for the other.  Jonathan and Chrissy are starting to wipe down the back counters and work their way forward.  We’ll be done before the sun sets.”

            “Oh,” Thomas nodded, a bit perturbed by the fact that Frypan was so… _ready_.  It upset him more than it should. He felt deflated. “Well, good.”  He scratched a few checkmarks down the list.  He reached the bottom written-in box and looked up to Frypan.  “And for tomorrow’s menu?”  
  
            “Oh, yeah!” Frypan said, shaking his hands free of the water.

            Thomas took a quick step back to avoid any backsplash.

            “So!” Frypan clapped his hands together.  “I’ve got a cinnamon rolled bread for breakfast with a maple glaze.”

            Thomas nodded.

            “A squash scramble sandwich for lunch.”

            “Okay.”

            “And, for dinner…” Frypan’s mouth curled up in an expectant smile.

            Thomas blinked “What?”  
  
            “My stew.”

            Thomas blinked again. “What?”

            “My stew! My stew, man! From the Glade! Remember?”

            Thomas’ chest tightened.

            “It’s got the potatoes in it and- well, I don’t wanna give you the recipe, obviously.  But I finally got it all sorted…”

            Thomas’ throat tightened as Frypan continued to ramble on.  He reached a hand out to steady himself on the counter, not caring if it’d been wiped down yet or not.  He blinked a few times to center himself but all he saw were words: loopy, cursive writing from a shaking hand.  “No,” he said.

            “-gonna have...” Frypan faded to a stop.  “What?”

            “No,” Thomas said louder and looked up at him.  “No stew.”  
  
            “What do you mean?”  
  
            “I mean, no stew,” he repeated. “Understand?” Thomas asked.  “Do you need me to spell it out for you?”

            Frypan blinked.

            “No. Stew. Find something else.”  
  
            Frypan stuttered through a few words before finally finding his sentence.  “Thomas it’s nearly sundown.  If I don’t make something right now we won’t have anything. And we’ve already closed up the kitchen.”  
  
            “I don’t care,” Thomas said.  “We’re not having stew.  Forget whatever recipe you remembered.”  He turned on his heel and stormed out of the hut.

            Thomas curved around two of the younger kids that ran past him shrieking with laughter.  He bit down on the growl threatening to escape him.  He regretted ever giving in to Vince’s insistence that they only make the kids younger than sixteen work three days a week instead of five.  He didn’t understand what the difference was. 

            He ducked under another string of decorations being carried by two people humming along with each other and stormed into the Mech’s Tent.  His eyes immediately landed on Brenda and Gally sitting on a couple of upturned crates laughing about something or other.  He glanced around the tent to the staticky radio on the side, the open splayed out tool kit and the half-taken apart truck engine on the large wooden work table.  He cleared his throat.

            “Oh,” Gally said, pushing himself up from the wall he’d been leaning back on.  “Hey Greenie.”

            Brenda shifted forward as well and looked up at him before her eyes scanned the hut landing on everything Thomas had already seen.

            Thomas blinked and pointed to the engine.  “You guys having fun? Just relaxing about?  You need anything? Want me to maybe finish this up for you? Grab you some hot chocolate or whatever ridiculous thing Frypan’s come up with now?”

            “He made hot chocolate?” Gally asked.

            Thomas caught the way Brenda nudged his knee with hers. He bit down on the comment threatening to escape and let them go on about their silent warnings to one another.  “That engine is supposed to be done by Friday,” he reminded them as he pointed to it.

            “Yeah,” Brenda nodded. “It’s Wednesday.  We have time.”  
  
            He blinked at them.  He hated how nonchalant they were about it.  Didn’t they understand that if they just got it done earlier, they’d be able to start on new projects? “If you have time to relax you have time to get it done.  Your deadline is tomorrow at sundown.”  
  
            “Tomorrow?” Gally asked as Brenda jumped up.  “Tomorrow’s Havenday.”

            “I don’t care,” Thomas snapped back at him.  “The holiday is an made-up tradition that doesn’t even mean anything to anyone except a day off.”

            “It’s not a day off when you have us making it up on Saturday anyway,” Brenda said quietly as she folded her arms.

            “Tomorrow. Sundown.” Thomas turned and stormed out of the Mech Hut ignoring their furious whispers to each other.

 

            He made it two feet before someone else approached him holding a half-empty crate with another person behind her holding a clipboard.

            “Thomas!” she greeted.  “I was hoping to catch you!”

            Thomas lifted his gaze to her and waited. 

            “It’s – it’s Marie,” she said quietly. She nodded to the person next to her with the clipboard.  “And Jonathan.”

            “What do you want?”

            “Well, we’re collecting toys and donations for the holiday tomorrow to share with all the younger kids to give them some excitement and fun,” she hoisted the box in her grip again and smiled. 

            Jonathan stepped up with the clipboard.  “What would you like us to put down?”

            Thomas furrowed his brow at him.  “Nothing.”

            Jonathan and Marie exchanged glances. Suddenly, Jonathan’s face lit up and he started scratching on the sheet.  “You’d like to be anonymous, got it! Let your donation go without a name, that’s awfully nice of you,” he nodded along with Marie.

            “What’d I’d like is to be left alone.” Thomas said as he stepped around them.

            Jonathan looked up, all trace of a smile gone. “Alone?”  
  
            “But Thomas,” Marie said, taking a step back in his way. “It’s for Havenday.”  
  
            “Surely you have something?” Jonathan asked.

            “If the kids need toys then let them make their own.” He spoke quickly over their protests. “If they refuse, then that’s their problem – not mine.  We didn’t have toys or games or barely anything, why should they?  You know what gets you anywhere? Working.  Starting a community,” he gestured around them.  “Not wasting time pretending.”

            “They’re children,” Marie said.

            “So was I.  Have a nice day.”  He stepped around them again and stormed off toward the Construction Hut.

 

            Thomas walked in and was pleasantly surprised to find Harriet busy at work with the other Builders.  Some were cleaning their areas, some were adding finishing touches to projects, and Harriet was dusting off the wood shavings from the work table.

            “Things look like they’re going smoothly in here,” Thomas nodded as he slowly walked in, scanning the projects.

            “Thomas!” Harriet started.  She stood from the desk and pushed her goggles to the top of her head and gestured around as she spoke.  “Lonnie is almost done with the new table for the Cooks.  Cait and James are already finished with the bench and I’m just about done with your storage shelf.”

            Thomas looked at the constructed bit of wood.  It had been sanded down and carved nicely – evenly.  Four shelves were built into the tall unit just as he’d requested.  He put a hand on one of the shelves and attempted to shift it, only to find it was sturdier than ever.  “Not bad,” he nodded and dropped his hand.

            “Thomas,” Harriet began, and the way she said it made Thomas twitch.  He knew the voice.  It was the voice of someone about to ask a favor.  “I know we’ve got a bit of time left still on today’s shift, but I was hoping I’d be able to check out a bit earlier today?”  
  
            He turned to her and raised a brow.

            “Sonya and I are hoping to get some preparations done for-”

            “Oh right,” Thomas nodded. “Your party or whatever.” He waved a hand.

            “Yes,” Harriet confirmed.  “If it’s convenient-”

            “It’s not.”  
  
            Harriet swallowed and stepped back.  She blinked a bit and went back to wiping down the wood shavings.  “Of course.  Forget I said anything.”

            Thomas watched her and only one word came to mind – _pathetic_.  What good was leaving early to prepare for a celebration that they didn’t even deserve to have?  He didn’t understand how they could all smile and laugh and waltz around as if very vital, important people weren’t missing from their lives. Didn’t they feel any shame? Any guilt? 

            He eyed his shelf and then Harriet again.  He rolled his eyes and hated himself for it, but he gave in.  “Oh, whatever.  Fine.  Go.”

            “What?” she looked up at him, brows raised.

            “But I want you in early tomorrow morning to make up for the hour you’re missing today.  Sunrise and not a minute after.”  He turned on his heel and made his way back to the exit.  
  
            “Of course, Thomas,” she called after him.  “Thank you! Happy-!”

            The rest of her words were cut off as he stormed from the hut and swung the door closed.  He didn’t need to hear the rest of it.  Not when he didn’t plan on celebrating the stupid holiday anyway.

            He pulled the zipper of his sweater further up and eyed the sinking sun.  The cool air nipped at him, but he still had one more round to check before he could pass the list to Vince.  He eyed the clipboard.

            “Excuse me!”

            Thomas scanned the list to see the Hunters would be next on his visits. 

            “Excuse me!”

            Thomas looked up from the list with a single raised brow.  He turned around but didn’t see anyone near him so he shrugged it off and glanced back down at the list.  The Hunters and then he could head off to Vince.

            “Excuse me!”

            He sighed and lowered the clipboard.  He looked around him again for the source of the voice.

            “Up here!”

            He turned toward the side of the Construction hut and saw a young girl standing on a ladder looking over at him. 

            “Can you help me, please?  I can’t reach the clock and if I don’t get it working before sunset, they’ll freak.  Please.”

            He blinked.  Clearly, this person must have been new for them to not realize who he was, and if they were new then why the hell were they put in charge of the goddamn clock?  “Who sent you up there?” he asked.

            “Gally.  I’m from the Mech Tent.”

            Thomas bit back on the threatening growl. 

            “Please, I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.  They said that if the clock’s not working when Thomas does his rounds then I’m gonna have to work an extra shift this weekend.”  
  
            “Are you new here?” Thomas asked, still not moving to help.

            “Yep.  Only just got here yesterday.”

            “Right.  And Gally sent you up there on your first day?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Why are you even working with the Mechs if you can’t reach a clock?”

            The girl stumbled over her words.  “I… I offered to help untangle wires. Someone came in and mentioned the clock was broken and I told them I could fix it.”  
  
            “So, you lied,” Thomas clarified.

            “No,” the girl shook her head. “I can fix it if I’d just be able to reach it.”  
  
            “But you can’t reach it, so you can’t fix it.”  
  
            The girl blinked down at him.

            “You shouldn’t offer to do jobs you’re incapable of doing.  You’re not done with your shift today until that clock is chiming loud enough to be heard miles out, got it?”  He turned and started to make his way to the Hunters Hut, ignoring the horrified realization dawning on the girl.

            “Thomas.”

            He stopped short and exhaled through his nose before he turned to Jorge.  “What?”

            Jorge glanced up at the young girl on the ladder and back down to him.  “Don’t you think you could spare a bit of time to help her out?”

            Thomas narrowed his eyes.  “Why should I?  Gally shouldn’t have put her up there.  It’s on him.”

            Jorge’s mouth twisted a bit.  “You ought to take some time to help others, Thomas.  Otherwise, who will be around to help you when you need it?”

            “I don’t need help,” Thomas answered.  “I got here on my own and I’ll continue to do so.  See ya.”

            “You’ll be sorry when you look back, _hermano._ ”

            Thomas waved him off and continued on his way.

 

            He shouldered the door of the Hunters Hut open and looked in to find Minho and the other Hunters putting away the files for the day and washing their tools.  “Minho,” he nodded to him.  “Anything from today?”

            Minho walked over and sighed heavily.  “We brought in some food for the Cooks but, Thomas, with the cold weather coming in I don’t know how much more we’re gonna get.  The animals are all in hibernation. It’s scarce out there.”

            Thomas looked around the hut at the others. Disappointment was on most of their faces, but some still looked hopeful.  “Lower the rations.”

            Minho blinked.  “What?”

            “Lower the rations,” he repeated.  “Only give Frypan half of what you hunt.  Freeze the rest here.  Tell no one.”

            “What?” Minho shook his head.  “Thomas, it’s hard enough to feed the people with what we have – and we’re getting more Haveners by the day.  Now you want me to lie about what we’re finding?”

            “Yes,” Thomas nodded.  “If you give Frypan less, he’ll lower the rations.  We’ll need this food to last us the winter.  If you give it all to him now he’ll use it up in stupid stew or whatever he makes within the first week.”

            “Thomas, people are starving already.”

            “Let them learn portion sizes.  It worked in the Glade, it’ll work here.”

            “The Glade was different – it didn’t get cold there.  We got supplies in a box-”

            “Exactly,” Thomas said.  “We were given what we needed.  We don’t have that luxury here.  Freeze half.  If I find out you’re giving him more than that, it’ll be the Slammer for both of you.”

            Minho’s mouth curled up in a sneer.  He scoffed.  “Sure thing, Thomas.  Whatever you say.”  
  
            Thomas weighed the merits of telling Minho he was right – it _was_ whatever he said – but he simply turned away.  “Clean up the Hut. It’s a mess.”

 

            He scribbled a checkmark next to the Hunter’s box as he made his way across the Haven toward Vince’s hut.  He scanned the list to double check every area was done.

            “Thomas!”

            He flinched and looked to the side where some boy jogged up to him with a mug in his hands. “Yes?”  
  
            “I was wondering if you’d like to try the tea I made for tomorrow,” he said.  “I boiled some leaves in the water and it almost tastes a bit like peppermi-”

            “No thank you.”  He turned forward again and started walking.  He made it nearly five feet before he was stopped again. 

            “Thomas,” a young girl with red eyes approached him quietly.  “If you have a moment, I’d like to ask a favor.”

            “A favor?” he asked her.  “From me?”

            “Yes,” she nodded.

            “What could you possibly need from me?”  
  
            “I burned my hand in the Cooks Hut earlier,” she lifted a hand with split, bubbled skin.

            Thomas recoiled from the sight of it.

            “Sonya says they’re low on Aloe and it’s only to be used for emergencies, but I was hoping you’d make an exception.  I won’t be of much help if my hand gets infected.”

            The word stung into his chest.  _Infected_.  This wasn’t infection.  This wasn’t disease.  This girl had no idea what real infection was – hadn’t seen it take over a person from the inside out.  He turned back to Vince’s tent and started walking again.

            “Please, Thomas!” she jogged in front of him, halting him.  “I won’t be able to do my part if it gets worse.”

            “You should have thought of that before you carelessly burned yourself in the first place.  Get out of my way.”  
  
            Her mouth settled into a line as she stepped away.  Her voice shook with anger as she spoke. “Never mind, then.  Forget I asked anything. Go on.”

            Thomas clenched his jaw and continued on his way to Vince’s tent.    

 

            He knocked twice on the door before he let himself in.

            “Ah, finished already?” Vince greeted him.  He leaned away from his desk and peered out of the small window toward the sunset.  “And early again, I see.”

            “Early is on time,” Thomas said as he tossed the clipboard down on the desk.

            Vince shook his head as he laughed.  “You’re something else, Thomas.”  
  
            Thomas decidedly ignored this comment.

            Vince scanned the list.  “Jeez, well this is negative.”

            Thomas shoved his hands into his pockets.

            “Plants dying, low on Med supplies, wasted food – what’s this about Harriet working tomorrow?”

            “She’s leaving early today.  She’ll be making up the time tomorrow.”

            “Tomorrow?” Vince raised a brow at him.  “You know tomorrow is the Haven Holiday, right?”

            Thomas fought the urge to roll his eyes.  “You don’t really support that. Do you, Vince?”

            “You don’t?”

            “Of course not,” Thomas said. “You think some day to celebrate has any place in the world we live in?  What are we even celebrating? That the Flare is still around? That people have died? That we’re stuck on this dumb island with no supplies?”

            “It gives them hope.”

            “Hope? Hope is for dreamers.  Hope takes your further from the reality of the world.  Hope is what killed half of my friends.”  Thomas took a breath.  “Anyway, if we’re done here…” he turned away.

            “Thomas?”

            He stopped.

            “Have you seen Lauren yet?”

            Thomas furrowed his brow and turned around.

            “She just lost Sam,” Vince clarified.  “I think it’d be nice if you’d talk to her.”

            “And say what?”

            A small look of shock flashed across Vince’s features, but disappeared as quickly as it came.  “Maybe consider giving her a day or two off from work?”

            “A day or two off?” Thomas laughed.  “Is that supposed to bring him back?”  
  
            “No, but it might help her heal.”

            Thomas shook his head.  “Nothing heals better than focus on something else. I’m helping her by making her work.  Besides, if I gave a day or two off to every idiot here who decided to fall in love with someone who was dying, nothing would ever get done.  You put me in charge here.  Don’t try to balk at my decisions now.  We’re all dying, Vince.”  
  
            “Some of us faster than others,” Vince answered.

            Thomas held his gaze for another minute before he looked pointedly at the list.  “We have bigger things to worry about than someone’s broken heart.”  He turned away and left the hut.

 

            The sun was just about gone by now and the sky had taken over a deep purple hue.  Thomas kept his head low, but still someone found a reason to bother and bug him for help untangling lights.  After he finally shook himself free of them, he walked directly to his tent and zipped it up against the beach outside.

            This part of the day was even worse than rounds.  This was the part of the day when everyone was finished with work and were free to wander about the Haven aimlessly making idle conversation as if the world hadn’t burned at their own feet – as if they had time to sit around when they had an entire life to rebuild. 

            This was the part of the day Thomas chose to close himself inside of his own tent, settle as comfortably as he could onto the pallets that made up his stiff bed and be by himself.  His hand wandered to the small side table next to the bed and he opened the rickety drawer.  Inside were the three items that kept him going – that kept him fighting.  His hand found the smooth surface of the tube that held in it the last thing Teresa gave him before she fell to her death.  He kept this from everyone – even Minho and Frypan.  None of them had to know what he held in his hands.  What good would it do them anyway? To learn of a cure that none of them could manifest.  And for what?  It’s not like he could go back in time and save anyone important anyway.  And if he couldn’t save him, then why should anyone else have the luxury? 

            Next to that was a small, carved wooden doll.  He’d made a promise all those years ago and never kept it. It was something he hated himself for.  Another thing he kept from the others.  They didn’t need to know about this either.  Besides, who would he tell?  Gally?  There was no way he even deserved to see it, let alone be told Chuck’s last request.  He pushed the memory away as he always did and moved to the next item. 

            He rolled the small cylinder between his fingers, letting the cool metal calm him.  It’d been months since he’d opened it, reread the letter written to him.  He refused to even uncap it anymore – not wanting the paper to wither away or get ruined. This letter was addressed to him so, like the other items, he kept it from the others.  Newt’s words were for him and him alone.  There was no reason to share them with anyone else.  If Newt wanted to tell them anything, he would have left something for them.  It was none of their business. 

            He tucked the three items safely into the drawer and listened to the sounds of music being made and laughter floating across the Haven.  His stomach turned and he shut his eyes tight against it. 


	3. Link By Link

            “Thomas.”

            Thomas flinched at the sound of his name, but ignored it.  It was probably another person at his door asking for a gift donation or day off or some favor.

            “Thomas,” the voice called again.

            He grunted a response that he hoped conveyed a simple but effective _no_.

            “Thomas!”

            Thomas’ eyes sprung open and he looked around his tent, half expecting to see someone standing there.  Alas, there was no one.  Even more, there was no sound outside either. 

            “Thomas,” the voice whispered again.

            He pushed himself up from the bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.  He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and walked to the door of his tent.  He unzipped it just a bit and peered out.  No one stood at his door, nor across the beach.  It was night still and judging by the silence it had to be past curfew.  Everyone would be in bed now – except whoever was calling his name.

            Something about it excited him – after his rough day, he’d like nothing more than to throw someone into the slammer on the day of this stupid Haven Holiday.  But as he continued looking around in the darkness, he saw no one.  He sighed and stifled the excitement in his chest and pulled his head back into the tent and zipped it shut.

            “Thomas.”

            He turned quickly at the voice and flinched at the sight, tumbled to the side into his desk and gripped it for stability.  He shut his eyes tight and reopened them.  He felt his heart racing in his chest, nerves alight inside of him as he stared directly at Alby, perched on his side table. 

            “Hey, Thomas.”

            He flinched again at the voice.  “Al… Alby?”

            “Good,” he nodded. “I was afraid you might not remember me.”

            Thomas watched on in horror as Alby moved a very solid-looking arm to the bed next to him.

            “Please, don’t stand on my account.”

            Thomas swallowed and blinked a few times, wondering vaguely if he was still dreaming.

            “No?”

            “I’m… good here, thank you.”

            Alby nodded. 

            Thomas swallowed again, trying to find the right words to form the immense number of questions that swam around his head.  “What are you?” he settled on.

            “What?” Alby asked, tilting his head.  “Well, that’s a bit offensive.”  
  
            “Who?” he tried, wondering if someone was playing an awful trick on him.

            Alby furrowed his brow.  “You already answered that.”  
  
            “I don’t think I answered correctly, in retrospect.”

            “You did,” Alby nodded.  “In life, I was your leader in the Glade.”

            “In…life,” Thomas repeated.

            Alby nodded and then gestured to the bed again.  “Please, Thomas.  Sit, you’re making me nervous.”  
  
            “I’m making _you_ nervous?”  
  
            Alby let out a small laugh. 

            “Sorry,” Thomas said slowly, realizing this had to be some sort of trick Haveners were playing on him.  “I don’t mean to be rude but… what are you doing in my tent?”

            “Oh!” Alby said loudly enough to make Thomas flinch again.  “Of course you don’t know.”

            Thomas slowly shook his head, trying to find his senses again.  “Are you here to… try to scare me? Or rob me?” His eyes flicked down to the drawer behind Alby’s legs.

            “Rob you?  Why would I want that?”

            “I don’t know,” Thomas said.  He waved a hand toward him.  “What, did I assign you an extra hour or are you mad about the rations?  Just so you know, whoever you are, there are other people more important to me you could have pretended to be rather than Alby.”

            Alby’s mouth tilted up in a bit of a smile.  “Again, I’m a bit offended by that.”

            “Yes, well,” Thomas dropped his gaze and let out an exhale, his heart and nerves finally calming. 

            “You don’t believe I’m actually here, do you?”

            “Of course not,” he looked back up at him.  “I mean, this could be anything,” he waved at him.  “A good art job or some acting.  I’m sure Gally and them told you enough about Alby to let you know how to speak like him.”

            “You think someone came here and looks and sounds exactly like me?” he laughed.

            “I don’t know,” Thomas shrugged. “You could also just be a figment of my imagination.  A bad dream.  I might have had a bad bit of meat for dinner and maybe the poison is making me hallucinate.”

            “A hallucination?”

            “Maybe you’re just really undercooked deer,” Thomas scoffed.

            Alby stood suddenly and a rushed wind took over the tent.  “Thomas!”  Alby yelled above the howling wind and, somehow, his voice seemed to echo around the tent.

            Thomas flinched back from the noise and squinted into the wind as it continued to whip around him.

            “Do you believe me or not?” Alby called out.

            “Yeah, yes. YES!” Thomas called, holding his hands up and pressing himself further back against the desk. “I believe you, I believe you. I’m here, you’re here. You’re Alby.”

            Alby’s shoulders lifted and then lowered in a final sigh and the wind seemed to die back down around them and settle into the calm air it once was.

            Thomas swallowed and attempted to calm his breath and pounding heart.  “Why are you here?”

            Alby watched him for another moment before he spoke.  “It’s required that, when you die, your spirit moves on in death.”

            Thomas stared at him and then shifted his gaze. “Okay,” he nodded.  “So… so go.  Go beyond or whatever,” he flicked a hand to shoo him.

            Another sudden gust of wind blew through the tent.

            Thomas flinched from it and held up a hand. “Okay! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”  He looked up when the wind died down.  “I take it it’s not that simple.”

            “For those who help, offer, console… their spirits travel beyond and are free,” Alby continued.  “But if you don’t follow that life?  If you don’t listen and care for others over yourself?”

            Thomas held his gaze and waited in the haunting silence.

            “Your spirit gets trapped here.”  He paused and his gaze dug into Thomas.  “And you spend the rest of forever wearing a chain.”  Alby yanked his arm forward suddenly from his side.

            Thomas watched as a long chain began to unravel from the desk behind Alby and coil to the floor.  The metal was loud as it clinked together and jolted his ears.  It continued to spiral down to the ground.  “When does it end?” he called over the noise to Alby, still eyeing the coils.

            “I’m glad you asked,” Alby said.  He took a step forward and lifted his shackled arm to reach into the neck of his shirt.  From beneath it, he pulled a heavy chain with several locks and keys attached to it.  “These are the locks and keys I kept in the Glade to keep the supplies protected from all the guys.  It kept away anyone looking for extra tools or food or medicine.  Around my neck?” He dropped the chain against his chest and tugged at the neckline of his shirt to reveal scars and broken skin where the chain had rested.  “They weigh a ton.”

            Thomas swallowed.

            “These,” Alby gestured to the lock boxes attached by another chain to each ankle, “are where I kept the extra supplies that I locked away.”  He moved a leg and Thomas watched one of the boxes scrape bits of the floor apart as it slid noisily.

            “Can’t you take them off?” Thomas asked.

            Alby laughed a dark thing.  “There’s no taking these off, Thomas.  I earned these.”

            Thomas shook his head.  “I don’t understand.  For keeping supplies safe?  For making sure no one took more than their allotted amount?”

            “For not helping when I should have.” Alby shook his head.  “Thomas, I ran that Glade like an army.  Wake up time, work time, eating time, no breaks until sunset.  There were rules in place without exception.”

            Thomas nodded. “You had to do that.  If you didn’t the place would have been chaos.”

            “No!” Alby shook his head.  “No, it wouldn’t have.  Thomas, if I gave the others a bit more freedom, let loose the reigns a bit more – they could have gotten out of there much sooner.  They would have found a way.  _Minho_ would have found a way.” He lifted his head a bit.  “Instead, I chose discipline and schedule.  And it killed my family.  Everything I did added another link to my chain.”

            Thomas looked along the chain and back up to him. “Will… Will I wear a chain?”

            Alby took a slow step forward, metal scraping against metal.  “It’s not too late to change, Thomas, but you need to try.  Otherwise,” he shook his head, “you’ll be dragging something more than twice this weight.”

            Thomas’ heart pounded inside of him as he took in the chains that came from Alby.  The heavy one around his neck, one belted around his waist, the two lockboxes attached to his ankles and the chains shackled at his wrists that lead to the coiled piled on the floor behind him.

            “Thomas,” Alby began.  “You’re going to be visited tonight by three more spirits.”

            Thomas looked up at him and shook his head.  “No thank you.”

            “When the clock tolls one,” he paused as one bell toll rang throughout the Haven, “the spirit of your past.”

            “My past?” Thomas asked. “I’d rather not think about the past.”

            “When the clock tolls two,” Alby continued, joined by two tolls, “the spirit of your present.”

            “Present, like a gift? Or like, right now,” Thomas asked.  “Because right now, I’d really just like to get back to bed, if that’s okay.”

            “When the clock tolls three,” Alby urged as three tolls chimed out.  “The spirit of your future.”

            Thomas narrowed his eyes. 

            “These three spirits will help you change and keep you from ending up like me,” he gestured with a chained arm.

            Thomas scratched the back of his head.  “You mean, alive?”

            Alby let another dark laugh out.  “You don’t get it, do you?  You think this is a joke.”

            “You’ll have to forgive me,” Thomas nodded.  “Don’t want another chain added to your collection for being mean, now.”

            Alby glared at him and then moved.  He gripped Thomas’ arm and dragged him with him to the edge of the tent, chains dragging behind them. 

            “Let go of me!”

            Alby unzipped the in one movement.  “Hey Gladers!” he called out to the Haven. He pushed Thomas through the flaps and out of the tent.  “Remember him?”

            Thomas stumbled forward.  He straightened as he regained his balance, ready to turn and snap at Alby, but froze in place as he looked up.  In front of him and all across the Haven were dozens of people staring at him – all with their own chains.  “What the…?”  He turned his head from one end of the Haven to the other.  They stretched far down the line of tents all along the shore.  Dozens of faces and it slowly started to occur to him.  “I know some of these faces,” he breathed.  But the faces had changed: gaunt and hollowed out, scarred and angry.

            Another push came from behind and he stumbled forward again – this time falling as the spirits began to close in on him.  He picked himself up and stepped backward from one before spinning and seeing another just behind him.  He ducked beneath it and came upon three more.  He spun from them – dodged and curved but no matter what, they were everywhere.  Laughter came from one end and then the other as he continued trying to run from them.  Fear gripped at his chest and tightened around his lungs.  They continued to close in as he folded in on himself and knelt to the sand.  He shut his eyes and put his head in his hands and against his ears, trying to block out the noise.

            “Look!” Alby yelled to him.

            “No,” he shook his head.  “Please, no!”

            A hand yanked his head back and he opened his eyes to see the entire expanse of the spirits spread around him.  There were hundreds standing around him, but more sitting on the roofs of huts, balanced on the corners of tents, standing on tables and swinging by their chains from trees.

            “See these people who were once like you?” Alby asked, gesturing to the rows ahead of him.  “All of these people here? They were leaders of Mazes.”

            Thomas scanned the line.

            “Nick, Ximena, Caroline, Louis,” Alby continued to list names Thomas didn’t recognize.  “These people here,” he lifted Thomas to his feet and spun him round.  “You’ll recognize _them_ , I assume?”

            Thomas stared on in horror as Ava and Janson and countless scientists watched him, shrouded in metal.  He flinched back from the laughs as they echoed loudly against his ears.

            He pulled himself from Alby’s grip and ran to the side, but another spirit stood in his way.  He looked up into Ben’s scarred, grinning face, a long chain linked around his shoulders.  Thomas stepped backward from him and spun round again right into Lawrence, nose missing and face mangled as he swung a chain forward to whip around Thomas’ waist.

            The metal gripped and tightened at his core.  Thomas tried to pull back from it but another chain wrapped around one of his wrists.  He turned to see Jasper, Lawrence’s partner, there pulling him toward him.  Thomas called out to stop, begged to let him go, but only received laughter in response as it grew louder around him. More faces – both familiar and unfamiliar – swam in his vision as they crossed each other this way and that dragging their metal around him.

            “They’re building your chains, Thomas!” Alby called above the noise.

            “Please! Stop!” Thomas called out as another wrapped around his leg, bruising scars against his muscle.

            Alby threw his head back and laughed as more spirits swarmed on Thomas.  “Listen to it shaking, Thomas!”

            As if on cue, the spirits surrounding him began to whip and move their chains; the heavy, thick metal links clanging into each other over and over as they all laughed.  More and more chains were wrapped around his free arm and leg, his neck and his chest.  Suddenly he felt himself lifted off the ground, muscles straining as he was pulled higher and higher into the air by the spirits on the roofs and treetops. Everywhere he turned were more and more spirits and metal – so much metal. 

            “Listen, Thomas!” Alby laughed out over the noise, near gleeful.  “Listen to your chains!”

            The spirits started to join in suddenly, pulling the chains tight.  They all yelled out in unison in a haunting chorus.  “Listen, Thomas! Listen, Thomas!”

            “Please!” he called out.  He grit his teeth at the way his body stretched as they pulled.  He turned to the side to see the muscles in his arm straining as Janson stood at the end of the chain, surrounded by others who kept up the chanting.  “Let go!”

            “Embrace your chain, Thomas!” Alby called out below him.  “Learn to love it!”

            Thomas was dropped down suddenly into the sand as the chains let him loose.  He scrambled to get up but the spirits moved in too quickly.  He backed up into more of them and then ricocheted into others as they began to push him around in the crowd.

            More metal began to wrap around him, but this time it tied his aching arms to his body and they began to trap him between them all. They wrapped more and more chains around him, weighing him down further into the sand.  “Let me go!”  Thomas shut his eyes to the noise.  The chants of _Listen, Thomas!_ began to melt into the cacophony of laughter and shaking chains and it filled Thomas’ ears.  His head pulsed as the noise pounded through him into his chest.

            And then suddenly it was gone.

 

 


	4. The Lights of Long Ago

            Thomas’ eyes sprang open.  His heart pounded in his chest, but he was no longer wrapped in chains.  Instead, he was cocooned inside of his own blanket.  He shifted his eyes and looked around the tent to confirm it was empty before he unraveled himself and sat up.  He whipped his head back and forth but all that greeted him was silence, a steady cool breeze from the sea and his empty tent.

            He stood and slowly walked across the tent to slowly unzip the entrance flap.  He held his breath and pushed the flaps aside.  The Haven was empty as ever.  He exhaled slowly and ran a hand down his face.  “Fuckin’ weird,” he shook the memory of the dream from his head.  He zipped the tent back up and turned, breathed a small sigh of relief that there was no one perched on his side table and crawled back into bed.  A sudden noise tolled across the Haven.

            “The bell,” Thomas breathed.

            The small sea breeze began to pick up and blow through his tent.  It whipped lightly through his hair and the chill crawled up his arms and sent a shiver through him.  He turned quickly and his eyes scanned the tent again waiting for someone to appear.  Finally, the breeze calmed down and settled.  He shifted his eyes around the tent once more before he let himself relax.  He allowed himself a small, nervous laugh before he turned over to lie down and then immediately sprang back and fell off the bed with a cracked yell.  He tumbled across the slated floor and rolled to a stop on his back staring up at the top of the tent.

            And then a face popped into view looking down at him.  “Thomas?”  
  
            He flinched and closed his eyes. 

            “Thomas, it’s me.”

            He nodded slowly and then quicker, letting the face register in his brain and letting _himself_ register what was going on.  He slowly opened one eye and looked up.  “Hi, Teresa.”  
  
            “Hi,” she smiled down at him and then frowned.  “What’re you doing on the floor?”

            “Looking for my sanity,” he responded.

            “Well, you’re not gonna find it down there.  Come on, up!” she extended a hand to him.

            He looked at her hand.  “Better than chains, I guess,” he sighed.  He reached up and took her hand – surprised to find it quite solid – and let her pull him up to stand.  He dusted the sand off of himself and then looked at her.

            She still looked mostly like the Teresa he knew: pale, freckled face framed by long black wavy hair.  Striking blue eyes that held a world inside of them.  But there was something different about her now – something almost younger, innocent.  Her face was the face of something Thomas hadn’t seen in a long time: hope.

            “How are you, Thomas?”

            “I’ve been better,” he nodded.  “Are you…?” he eyed her, skeptically.  “Are you the spirit sent to me to teach me about the past?”

            “I am,” she nodded, smiling.

            He nodded along, trying to grasp the event of the night.  “Nice to see another familiar face, then.  You’re not gonna string me up by chains like a fly in a web or anything, are you?”

            She furrowed her brows.  “God, no!”

            “Well, that’s good news,” he reasoned. 

            “I brought something else with me.”  She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a glowing orb.

            Thomas flinched away at first, but then leaned in a bit to look closer at it.  “What is it?”

            “Your past.”

            His eyes flicked up to her.  “My past?”

            “Yes, Thomas,” she laughed.

            He looked back at the glowing orb.  “It’s so…” he tilted his head again.  “Bright.”

            “Isn’t it? Come on,” she held it out to him and he sprung back a step.  “Take it!”

            He raised his brows.  “Take…that? You want me to take that?”

            She nodded at him.

            “I’m okay,” he shook his head.  “I know well enough I shouldn’t touch mysterious glowing things.”  
  
            Teresa’s eyes crinkled as she smiled further.  “Oops!” she yelled as she tossed it toward him.

            “Teresa!” he yelled reaching forward.  He grabbed the orb, ready to yell at her for throwing his past around, when suddenly he was ripped off his feet.

 

            His body spun and a light breeze wrapped around him, grazing his arms and face.  “Teresa!” he yelled.

            “I’m right here!” she laughed next to him.  “Open your eyes!”

            He hadn’t even realized he closed his eyes, but he forced them open and his mouth slowly parted.  He stood – if you could call it that – in mid-air with Teresa, the glowing orb still safe in his hands.  Around them, flashes of scenes whipped past too quickly for Thomas to catch what any of them were.

            “This is your timeline,” Teresa explained.  “They’re scenes from your life.”

            Thomas continued to gape around him at the dozens of images.

            “Hold tight!” Teresa called.

            “What?” he whipped his head around to her and suddenly everything stopped and he and Teresa were falling.

            “First stop!” she called over to him.

            He flailed through the air, keeping one hand tight around the orb. “Teresa!”

            “Almost there!”

            He looked behind him as he fell backwards and saw a white surface approaching fast.  “Teresa!” he called again.  An instant later he landed in the softest snowbank he’d ever encountered.

            He looked up into the dark blue sky, snow flurries landing around him.  “What the…?”  He pushed himself up from the snow, happy enough to find that through some sort of magic he also acquired boots and a jacket, and looked around him.  The place was unfamiliar for the most part, but something about it clawed at Thomas’ brain – almost as if he’d seen it before in a dream. 

            A sudden blur of movement ran into view and he looked down to see a young boy laughing, layered in scarves and bulky mittens.  After a moment, another older figure came into view jogging behind him.  She slowed to a stop and rested her hands on her knees. Long strands of brown hair fell loose from beneath a winter cap and she reached up to tuck them back behind her ear before covering her mouth to cough.  She stood back up then and continued jogging to where the boy waited at the brown door of a large house.

            Thomas took a slow step forward, tilting his head.  “I know that house,” he said, barely above a whisper.

            “Go on,” Teresa said, suddenly next to him.

            He looked back at her to see her nodding for him to go closer.  Setting his focus back on the house as the older woman opened the door, he started slowly walking closer, trying not to scare her or the child.  When they’d both gone inside, he sped up a bit and walked around the side of the house to peer in through a window.

            There was grand living room with a big fireplace that the boy settled in front of now as he took of his mittens and scarves.  There was an older man on the couch behind the boy who laughed at something Thomas couldn’t hear, but as he turned to look toward the woman, Thomas could see black veins branching out across his neck to his face. 

            Thomas stepped back from the window.  “He has the Flare.”

            “Yes,” Teresa nodded.

            “But what about his family?” Thomas asked.  “They’re all going to be infected.  That kid is going to get infected.”  He turned back to Teresa.  “We have to do something.”

            Teresa looked pointedly to the front of the house. 

            Thomas turned and walked a bit further out to see around the house.  A truck was parked on the road down from the front path of the house outside of the gate.  A large symbol on the front had lines going a few different ways and chipped lettering read “Post-Flares Coalition”.  A heavily-guarded man hopped from the truck and opened the back, releasing six more men – all geared up with weaponry and masks.  They stormed the front yard and reached the door and started banging on it. 

            Thomas ran to the side again to look through the window and he watched the small family exchange panicked looks.  The father shouted something, but the mother ran and scooped up the young boy and his jacket. Thomas watched in horror as the guards broke into the house and grabbed hold of the father, dragging him from the house and his crying family.

            “Thomas!” the man shouted back to the house.  “Find WCKD! You can save us!”

            Thomas’ chest contracted as he realized the man was yelling to the small boy in the woman’s arms.  “That’s… that’s my father.”

            Teresa’s hand grazed his arm.  “Look.”

            He turned to Teresa to see her facing the other way.  He turned to look over his shoulder and found another scene waiting for him. 

            _It was a crowded street at night, snow still falling.  Hundreds of people were pressed against a wrought-iron gate, yelling and fighting to get through.  The woman_ – his mother, Thomas reminded himself – _made her way through the crowd with Thomas clutched against her._

            Thomas jogged toward the crowd.  “Where is she taking him – me? Where is she taking me?” he asked, eyes scanning the scene ahead where guards stood past electrical wires with barking dogs and bright lights.  He forced his way through the crowd and finally stopped next to her at the front,

            _She crouched down in front of the child.  “Remember,” she said to him through her tears. “I love you.  I love you, Thomas.”_

_A guard came then and pulled young Thomas back away from her and lifted him in his arms to carry him through the fence. Young Thomas cried out to her, but still the guard walked on, and his mother stayed where she was, watching in fear._

            “I don’t get it,” Thomas shook his head.  “Why did she give me up?  Why didn’t she go after me?” He looked at Teresa.  “Why did she bring me here?”

            “She brought you here because she wanted you to be safe.”

            “With WCKD?” Thomas snapped.

            “Yes.”

            Thomas clenched his jaw and looked down at his mother.  “She’s a stranger to me.  That’s all she managed to do.” He swallowed back against the tightness in his throat, the anger and most of all – the hurt.  “She made herself a stranger to me.  I wouldn’t even recognize her now.”

            “You wouldn’t have to.”

            Thomas looked up at Teresa.

            “Your mother died soon after this.  Infected by the Flare.”

            Thomas looked back down at the woman still watching her son get taken from her.

            “I think you should take a look at that orb once more, Thomas.”  
  
            He looked back at her.  “What will it show me?”

            Teresa didn’t answer, just waited in silence.

            Thomas looked down once more at his mother.  He swallowed again, perhaps a goodbye, and reached into the pocket of his coat.  He pulled out the glowing orb and watched the light pulse – slowly at first, and then quicker until it shone bright enough to block out the entire scene in front of him.  Thomas lifted an arm to shield his eyes from the glare and felt himself get ripped off of his feet again.

            The air flew past him, more and more images swimming around, and then his boots landed hard on a solid surface.

 

            He opened his eyes and looked around him.  He was in a large room surrounded by monitors all around him, glowing blue lights illuminating the machines.  “I know this place, too,” he breathed.

            He turned to see Teresa watching a young boy at a desk surrounded by multiple monitors, graphs and sketches.  Thomas looked up to the screens above the younger version of himself and saw images of the Glade – empty and not yet inhabited. 

            _“Thomas!”_

            He whipped around at Ava’s voice in the doorway. 

            _She peered in, blonde hair shoulder length and younger than the last time he’d seen her.  Her eyed found the young boy in the chair._

            _“What’re you still doing in here?” she laughed._

 _“Just finishing up a quadrant,” the boy replied._  
  
            “You know it’s Friday, right? You should have finished up hours ago.”  
  
            “I know,” he said, eyes still on the screens above him.

_Ava smiled at him.  “Well, don’t be up too late.”_

_He nodded vaguely at the screens as Ava left._

            “Planning the Maze,” Teresa said, leaning back on the table and looking down at him.  “I remember that face.”

            Thomas furrowed his brows at her. His eyes caught on another movement in the hallway’s light. 

            _A small figure silhouetted in the doorway, frazzled hair pointing in all different directions. “Tom? Is that you?”_

_The younger Thomas looked away from the monitors for the first time and turned to the doorway.  “Yeah, I’m here.”_

_“Are you almost done?” the young girl asked as she walked into the room.  From the dim light of the screens, Thomas could start to make out the black hair, the freckles and then striking blue eyes._

            _“Almost,” younger Thomas said._

_“I thought you finished two days ago.”_

_Younger-Thomas shook his head.  “I had a better idea for the Maze. I think if I give it a code that has to be unlocked, kind of like a puzzle, it might stimulate everyone a bit more, y’know?”_

_“Kind of like this project and us?” Younger Teresa laughed._

_“Yeah,” Younger Thomas joined her laughter.  “I guess that’s kind of where I got the idea.”_

_“How are you going to leave hints though?”_

_“I think I can put a key to the door inside of a Griever,” younger-Thomas answered._

_“Like a battery.”_

_“Exactly,” younger-Thomas nodded.  “All they’d have to do is defeat the Griever and take the piece out and it will lead them right to the door.”_

_“That’s brilliant!”_

            “It was me,” Thomas breathed, looking down at the two of them.  “The Maze, the Code, all of it.”

            “You weren’t alone,” Teresa answered, her arm grazing his again.

            “I don’t want to see any more of this,” he shook his head and stepped back from her.  “Why are you showing me this?”

            “To understand the present, you must learn from the past,” she answered.  She looked pointedly at the orb in his hand again.

            He glanced back at their younger selves, Teresa now taking a seat on the arm of his chair and helping him map out a code that he would one day figure out in the Glade. Yes – he needed to get out of this room, away from this memory.  He wanted no part of this.  He held the orb out in front of him and watched the light pulse again before it took over.  This time, when his feet left the ground, he sighed in relief.

            Thomas landed yet again on the ground, yet this one was a bit softer.  The familiar scent of moss and grass filled his senses and then was joined by smoke and ash.  He opened his eyes to the night sky, stone walls towering over him with ivy crawling up the cracked sides.  He swallowed.  “No,” he breathed.  “Not here.”

            “Thomas, look.”

            He turned to where Teresa pointed.

            _Alby stood next to a large pile of wood, dozens of boys standing around him in a circle with their own lit torches to match his.  “Gladers!” Alby called out.  “To the Greenie!”_

_“To the Greenie!” they cheered._

_“Let’s light it up!” Alby called.  He turned and lit the bonfire with his torch.  A moment later he tossed the whole torch into the pile.  The others all threw their torches in as well like spears and the flames took off to the sky, crackling in the night through more cheers._

_“Stan!” a boy called.  “Let’s get this started!”_

_Another boy jogged over with a small bag of metal rods and joined two others with homemade drums and instruments and suddenly music was echoing across the Glade.  In a blur, food was passed around, brew was made and suddenly the others were dancing around, laughing and calling out to each other with smiles on their faces._

            “It’s Minho,” Thomas said suddenly, chest caving at Minho’s younger face as he laughed at some joke Ben was sharing with him.

            “And more,” Teresa said.

            Thomas scanned the faces and watched and more and more became familiar.  Zart, Frypan, Winston, Gally.  His stomach dropped as he saw the small boy sitting next to Gally, red cheeks and curly hair adorning his smile.  “Chuck.”

            Teresa smiled softly at him. 

            “Is this his Greenie night?”

            Teresa shook her head slowly, a smile in her eyes.

            Thomas furrowed a brow and scanned the crowd again, but the music picked up and suddenly there was dancing again; the fight circle had formed and the party was well begun. 

            “Come on!” Teresa laughed as she jogged forward into the fray.

            “What?” Thomas shook his head.  “They’re gonna see-!” he cut himself off as he watched Teresa run into the crowd, quite literally.  The others seemed to walk through her as she danced around them in the firelight.  Thomas looked down at himself and held a hand to his chest.  He was quite solid, but he wondered…  He took a few steps forward as Zart made his way over to Ben with another kebab and walked right through Thomas.  He clenched his jaw at the burst of heat that stung him, but it was gone in an instant.  

            “Come on!” Teresa urged.

            He took a few steps further into the crowd.  With each body that went through him, the heat lessened – or perhaps he just got used to it.  After a few minutes, he was able to feel comfortable and joined in the laughter as he listened to Minho tell Zart about Ben tripping on a vine during the morning’s run.

            Teresa grabbed his hand a moment later and spun him into a circle of dancing. After a few attempts at refusing, he finally gave in and let her lead him into a few spins around the fire in and out of Frypan twirling Clint beneath his arm. The music filled the air and the smell of honey from Gally’s brew and smoke and ash curled around Thomas as he let himself fall into this feeling of freedom the Gladers had built for themselves here.

            He slowed to a stop, nearly tripping over himself as his eyes snagged on movement outside of the circle of Gladers.  The way the firelight danced on tufts of blonde hair and the way the figure leaned heavily on one side as he walked.  The name broke out of his chest as if it were fighting to be spoken aloud: “Newt.”  
  
            He watched as Newt veered off and stepped over a log to join another figure sitting down against it, looking out toward the Maze.  Thomas glanced back once at Teresa before he walked through the crowd and stepped quietly up to the two shadows of the past.

            _“Helluva first day, Greenie,” Newt laughed.  He handed a small mason jar over to Thomas.  “Here, put some hair on your chest.”_  
  
            He watched himself take the jar from Newt and chance a sip – immediately spitting it out.  He instantly remembered the taste – the stinging sweet brew that burned against his tongue.  A small laugh broke out of him as he watched Newt laugh at him.  The exchange between the two of them went on for a bit and he lost himself in the memory of it.  The description of the Maze, the Grievers, the way Newt’s warmth felt next to him, the smell of sweet, honeyed brew that mixed with a twinge of sweat.

            _“Come on!” Newt laughed. “You’re the guest of honor!” He reached down and dragged Thomas up and hung an arm around him as he directed him into the crowd of Gladers to start doing introductions._

            Thomas felt Teresa step up next to him.

            “Is there more?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

            “There’s always more, Thomas.”

            He swallowed, his eyes still across the Glade on the way Newt laughed at Thomas trying Frypan’s bacon for the first time.  He reached into his pocket and grabbed the orb and, letting one more breath of relief at the happy memory, lifted it up and let it take him away.

 

            Thomas slammed back down to the scent of firewood and ash, but this one was different.  There was no moss, no honeyed brew.  He opened his eyes to sand.  He took a deep breath, let himself push away the memory of the Glade bonfire and the way it warmed him, and then turned to see another, much smaller crackling fire. 

            _Again, he’d sat facing away from it.  Only, instead of a party, the others were curled around each other, faces gaunt and hollow, hope seeping from them._

            “Why am I here?” he pleaded and turned to Teresa.  “What good can come of this memory?”

            Teresa only gestured for him to watch.

            He turned back and watched as Newt joined Past-Thomas on the outside edge of the firelight. 

            _“You haven’t slept a wink since we’ve left the Maze, have you?”_

            Thomas watched the way Newt watched him, concern and pain deep in his features – so different already from the previous memory.  The way he spoke to Thomas was softer, gentle.  Here, they knew each other.  Here, they weren’t just Gladers anymore.

            _“We’ve been lost before,” Newt said._

_“Yeah, but not like this.”_

            _Newt watched him, the glow from the firelight dancing along both of them.  “There is a place for us out there somewhere.  I don’t know where it is, but I do know that an awful lot of our friends have died for us to get this far. And so, we can’t give up. You can’t give up.  I won’t let you.”_

            Thomas watched on as the two of them watched each other for a moment in silence.  He turned to Teresa before either of them broke their gaze.  “I don’t want to see this,” he said to her.  “I don’t want to see him talking about a place he’ll never get to be.”  He didn’t bother to feel ashamed of the way his voice shook.

            “Did you hear him, Thomas?” Teresa asked.  “Did you really hear him?”

            He looked back at the two of them, but Newt was already walking back to the firelight.

            “Come on,” Teresa said.  “Only a few more stops now.”

            Thomas clenched his jaw as he reached into the pocket of his coat and let the light take over once again.

 

            The wooden slats were sturdy beneath Thomas’ boots as he slammed down onto them. He straightened himself and looked forward.  He was in an old, broken down building – one of the buildings they’d spent time in while searching for Minho.  This building, he would never forget.  His chest warmed suddenly inside of him.

            “This way, Thomas,” Teresa said gently.

            He closed his eyes.  “I know,” he smiled.  He turned and led the way down the hallway.  Room after room until finally reaching a small one at the end.  He leaned in the doorway, shoulder nestling its way against the broken hinge of the door, and he watched:

 

            _“You’re not alone in this,” Newt was saying quietly in the sliver of moonlight, eyes burrowing deep into Thomas’._

_“I know,” Thomas nodded._

_“Well then, act like it.  You can’t keep blaming yourself.”_

_Thomas ran a hand down his face and then back up through his hair until Newt suddenly reached up and grabbed it.  He gently brought it down to their sides and held it there, not letting go.  “Let me help you.”_

_Thomas’ eyes finally looked up to meet Newt’s. “Okay,” he said, barely over a whisper._

_Newt’s hand twisted just slightly and their fingers linked at their sides. “Tell me what you need.”_

_Thomas shook his head just slightly, eyes scanning Newt’s face.  “I only need you here.”_

_“I’m here, Tommy,” Newt whispered, leaning his forehead against Thomas’.  “I’m always here.”_  
  
            “Can you promise me that?”

_“Over and over.”_

_Thomas tilted his head up just slightly and swallowed the whispered words._

            Thomas felt a choked sob break out of his chest. He could remember the sweetness of honey, smell the tang of moss and grass and sweat that filled his senses the same way it did back then.  He could remember so vividly the way his heart pounded in his chest, the way their hands tightened around each other’s at their sides and the way Newt’s smile felt against his own.  He remembered the feeling of relief, of knowing, of _finally_.

            “Come on, Thomas,” Teresa said, gently.  “A bit more to see.”

            Thomas held a hand up.  “One minute.”

            “Thomas,” Teresa said.  “You shouldn’t stay here too long.”

            “Don’t take this from me,” he snapped at her.  “You don’t get to take this away.”  
  
            She shook her head.  “I’m not.  This will never be taken away.  But you need to keep going.”

            “Why?”

            Her face shifted into a sadder kind of smile.  “This is a wonderful memory, Thomas, but you need to remember where your life goes from here.”  
  
            He watched her for a moment as her words settled inside of him.  He swallowed and looked back at the memory, at himself and Newt smiling at each other, sharing a nervous laugh in this quiet space away from the world outside.  He took a deep breath and pulled the orb from his pocket. 

 

            Dust motes swirled around him as Thomas landed behind himself leaning over a table across from Vince. Maps were spread wildly on the table, strings and pins placed all over, pencils rolling onto the floor and one stuck behind is ear as he wrote notes with another.

 

            _“We’re closing in, I can feel it,” his past self murmured._

_“These tracks go North here,” Vince tapped a spot on the map._

_“For twelve miles,” Past Thomas confirmed.  “And then veers West.”_

            There were stilted footsteps in the corner that Thomas turned toward as his past self stayed focused on the notes. 

            _“Tommy,” Newt called from the doorway.  “Food’s getting cold.”_

_“Yeah one minute,” Past Thomas said to the map._

_Newt watched him for another minute, working his mouth over some unspoken words before he turned away and ducked out of the room._

 

            The scene shifted rather quickly to another day, but it was the same:

 

            _Thomas curled himself over more maps, notebook a quarter of the way filled now with scribbled coordinates._

_“Tommy,” Newt said from the doorway._

_“What Newt?” he sighed._

            Thomas furrowed a brow at himself.

            _“Why don’t you call it for tonight?” Newt asked.  He took a few steps forward._

_“I’m close, Newt. I know it.”_

_Newt reached forward and trailed a hand down Thomas’ back, but Thomas shrugged him off.  “Not now, Newt.”_

_Newt tucked his hands in his pockets.  “I wasn’t trying to… I just think you’re overworking yourse-_ ”

_“Newt,” Thomas ran a hand down his face.  “Can you please just… just give me a minute, okay? I’ll be in later.”_

_A muscle flickered in Newt’s jaw but he just nodded to the back of Thomas’ head. “Sure, Thomas.”_

            Thomas shook his head as he turned to Teresa. “I don’t get it. Why won’t I talk to him?”  
  
            “You had a project to focus on,” Teresa explained.  “It was more important to you than him.”

            Thomas shook his head as he watched Newt stop in the doorway and turn back to look at Thomas. 

            _He opened his mouth to speak but, again, swallowed his words and turned away._

            “What is it he’s trying to say?  What did he want to say?” Thomas turned to Teresa.

            Her gaze flicked down to the orb.

 

            The scene changed again and they were suddenly in the small room that Thomas and Newt slept in. 

 

            _Newt sat on a table next to the window watching the doorway, head leaning back on the wall._

 

            “Where am I?” Thomas looked around the room, searching for himself.

            “With the maps,” Teresa said quietly.

            Thomas turned to Newt to see him eyeing the watch on his wrist. 

 

            _Newt exhaled and pushed himself off the table.  He started walking toward the door but suddenly, his body lurched to the right and he stumbled a few steps to the side.  He fell to hands and knees and stared at the floor._

            “What’s happening?” Thomas asked.  “What’s wrong with him?”

  
            _Newt blinked at the floor a few times before he looked up and took in his surroundings.  He seemed to gather himself again and pushed himself to stand._  

 

            The scene changed again to another night in the same room. 

 

            _Thomas was sliding a notebook off the table in a huff._

_“Thomas, you haven’t slept in weeks.”_

_“I’ve been sleeping, Newt,” Thomas sighed, annoyed.  He started walking toward the door as Newt followed._

_“One night, Thomas. You can take a night off.”_

_Thomas spun toward Newt.  “One night off is one more night he’s stuck there.  If you wanna waste time lounging around in here, go for it.  You’re not needed.”  He turned and stalked out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him._

_Newt stood in the room staring at the door.  Another muscle flickered in his jaw as he began to idly scratch is arm.  He continued scratching until he finally looked down to see the marks he’d made.  He furrowed a brow at a small bead of blood bubbled up from one of the scratches.  He wiped it away and the scene changed._

Thomas turned in the empty room and looked around.  “Where is he? Where am I?”

            Teresa stood waiting and watching the door.

 

            _A moment later it was slammed open as Newt stumbled in, spun and closed in quickly.  He breathed heavily and then coughed against his arm._

            “What is this?” Thomas asked, taking a step closer. “What’s happening?”

 

            _Newt coughed again and pulled back.  There were miniscule flecks of red on the sleeve of his shirt.  He sighed down at them, the coughing fit over.  He turned away from the door and reached over his head to pull the shirt off._

            Thomas stumbled back as his eyes trailed down Newt’s back, followed the black lines branching out from his spine.  “What?” he asked, barely above a whisper.  “How did…?”

 

            _Newt tossed the shirt aside with another light cough._

 

            Thomas’ eyes scanned the red marks scratched into his arm.  “He was already infected.”  He turned to Teresa.  “He knew this early.”

            Teresa nodded solemnly. 

            “Why didn’t he say anything?” he turned back to him.

            “How could he?” Teresa asked.  “When you were already so stressed about finding Minho.”

 

            _Newt coughed again into the balled-up shirt and pulled it back to reveal more blood.  He wiped his mouth and shoved the shirt far beneath the old mattress in the corner before he pulled on a different, darker one.  He pulled the sleeves fully down to cover the red marks and looked out the window._

            Thomas stumbled backward, his chest hollowing out. He tore his gaze away and blinked back the blurred vision, swallowing down against the tightness in his throat yet again.  “Please,” he barely choked out, still blinking down at the wooden slats below his boots. 

            “Go ahead,” Teresa said quietly.  “But I don’t promise it will get easier.”

            “No,” Thomas agreed, tightening his grip around the orb.  “I don’t expect it to.”

 

            The scenes flew past him in a blur: _Thomas running ahead of Newt in a tunnel, leaving him to nearly be crushed by a train.  Thomas bringing Newt into WCKD’s facility and making him jump from stories above into ice cold water.  Thomas dragging Newt around the city streets, wasting time – wasting so much time._

 

            Suddenly everything slowed, quieted.  There were muffled gunshots in the distance – far off.  Two lights shone down into Thomas’ eyes as the scent of smoke, ash and wet pavement swarmed around him.  Humidity and damp air hugged his skin.  He turned on the quiet city street and spotted himself, months ago, doing the same circle – taking in his surroundings, considering the words he’d just heard.

            Thomas’ heart picked up.  “Teresa,” he breathed.

            “I’m here.”  
  
            He swallowed as he looked into his own face – anger and confusion, fear and impatience.   And there, just behind him, a figure slowly standing up.

            Thomas closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

            “Thomas,” Teresa said quietly.  “You have to remember.”

            “I know,” he exhaled.  He opened his eyes.  “I remember.”

 

            _Newt lunged toward Thomas, the two of them toppling over.  Thomas’ body scraped across the damp concrete and Newt roared against his neck, clawing at Thomas’ chest as Thomas continued to push back.  Black eyes, black veins, black blood… It all glistened in the lights from WCKD’s Facility.  The metal of the gun as Newt held it to his head, the reflection of the dagger as it slashed left, right, left again; Thomas and Newt continuing their dance along the burned streets of Denver.  Faster they moved. Faster, faster._

            “Remember, Thomas!” Teresa called above Newt’s roars.

            “No,” Thomas watched on in horror.  “No, don’t let it happen again.”

            “Remember, Thomas!”  Teresa’s voice echoed behind him, through WCKD’s speakers, over sirens and roars and his own cries he made to Newt.  “Remember, Thomas!”

 

            _Thomas and Newt stilled in the shadows of the building, mere silhouettes now watching each other._

            “These are the shadows of things that have been!” Teresa called out over Thomas’ shattered cry.  “They are what they are!”

            “Please!”

            “They are what they are!”

            “Newt!” Thomas crashed to his knees as the silhouettes – now suddenly so far in the distance – crashed down to the ground together.

            “They are what they are!”

            “Please!”

            “They are-!”

            Thomas swung an arm back but Teresa was no longer behind him.  His eyes scanned the area, but everything seemed frozen around him.  He turned back around, but the silhouettes were gone from the empty alley leading to WCKD.  He continued to search, but everything around him was still.  He reached into his pockets but found them empty.  “No. No, no, no, where is it?” he scanned the ground, his hands grazing over the pavement until finally his fingers scraped against something and he heard a clinking sound.  There, beneath his hand, was the shattered orb.  “No,” he shook his head.  “No. You can’t leave me here!” he called out around him.  “Teresa!”  With shaking hands, he picked up the pieces of the orb, trying to weakly place them together.  His arm shot out as he threw one of the glass pieces bounding across the concrete.  He choked out a broken sob as he curled over on himself.  “They are what they are,” he breathed.  “They are what they are.”

            There was a small chill in the air around his neck.  He paused in his shaking and opened his eyes. Sandy, wooden slats greeted him in the cool dark night.  He lifted his head to find himself back in his tent in the Safe Haven.  He worked to steady his breathing and calm his heartrate.  “A nightmare,” he exhaled.  “Just… another really bad nightmare.”  He blinked away his blurred vision and pressed his fingers into the corners of his eyes.  He had to get back into his bed.  He couldn’t remember when he’d fallen out but-

            His thoughts were interrupted by two chimes of a bell ringing across the Safe Haven.

            “Oh please, no,” he murmured.  “Please tell me it was all a dream.”

            He eyed all the corners of the tent, happy to see no movement, no shadows, definitely no ghosts…

            But then, in the corner of his eye he saw a shadow against his tent run past. 

 

 


	5. The Presence is a Present

            Thomas sat in the middle of his tent and whipped his head around to the movement of a running shadow, but it was gone when he looked.  He heard a laugh on the other side of his tent and whipped around to see another shadow run past and out of sight again.  He clenched his jaw and pushed himself to stand.  “If you’re out past curfew, Vince says it’s the Slammer for two hours after work – you know that!”

            Another laugh answered him as the shadow ran behind him.

            He whipped around again and stared at one of the walls of the tent, waiting for whoever it was to try to move again.

            “Hey, Thomas!”

            Thomas flinched as he spun, banged his knee into his desk and nearly scrambled on top of it as he faced the entrance of the tent – now unzipped with a small, curly-haired head sticking through it.

            “You look pale, Thomas.  Did I scare you?”

            Thomas’ heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to breathe and swallow at the same time.  “No,” he managed.  “No, Chuck. I’m fine.”

            “Okay, good!” Chuck said, pushing his way further into the tent. “I’ve got so much to show you!”

            Thomas nodded.  “Of course you do.”  
  
            “Come on, it’s not gonna be in here!”

            “Uh,” Thomas searched the tent for an excuse.  “I think I need to stay here.  Curfew and all…”

            “Oh please! Vince isn’t gonna know!” Chuck beckoned him forward.  “I’ve got the perfect prank to play on Gally!”

            “A prank?” Thomas asked. “You want to show me a prank?”  
  
            “You’re gonna help me!”

            “That’s not a good idea, Chuck,” Thomas shook his head and finally stepped away from the desk toward the bed.  He was in no mood for pranking.

            “Why not?”  
  
            “I told you: curfew.”

            “Who cares about curfew?”

            “He needs to sleep and so do I.  I don’t have time to run around playing pranks on people.”

            “You used to not have a problem with it.”  
  
            “That was only once and I didn’t know what you were doing then,” Thomas said, pulling the blankets back on his bed.  “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go to bed.  You and the other spirits can meet up with me another time, maybe.  I’ll check my schedule in the morning.”

            “Come on, Thomas.”

            “Goodnight, Chuck,” Thomas pulled his blankets up and closed his eyes, visions of Newt still flashing in his mind.

            The blanket was suddenly pulled halfway down his body. 

            He opened his eyes and looked to the foot of the bed where Chuck stood pretending to whistle innocently.  Thomas reached down and grabbed the blanket and pulled it back over his shoulders again.  A breath later it was pulled down once more.  He sighed heavily.  “Chuck?”

            “Yes?”

            “Is this gonna take long?”

            “Nope!”

            Thomas sighed again.  “Why do I not believe you?”

            “Couldn’t tell ya,” Chuck said, yanking the blanket completely off now.  “Let’s go!”

            Thomas pushed himself up from the bed and stepped into his boots. “One prank.”  
  
            “Fine,” Chuck pouted.  “But it’s not gonna be on Gally, then.”

            “Whatever,” Thomas shook his head.  “Let’s go.”

            “Close your eyes!” Chuck said, blocking the exit.

            Thomas leveled a stare at him.  He looked the same as he did in the Glade – all smiles, red cheeks and bright eyes.  Something pained in Thomas’ chest.  He closed his eyes if only to look away.

            “Let’s go!”

            Thomas opened his eyes confused, only to find himself in the exact spot he’d been when he closed his eyes.  The only difference is that Chuck had ran through the exit of his tent and left him behind.  “Chuck?” he called quietly.  “Chuck! It’s after curfew, get in here.”

            “Come on, Thomas!”

            He clenched his jaw and pushed through the flaps.  Immediately, he froze, hand letting go of the tent and falling to his side as he looked around the entire Safe Haven.  It looked exactly the same – tents scattered about in the same formation they’d always been, Remembrance Stone in its place by the sea, Food Tent, Med Hut, woods.  Everything was as it’d always been.  There was only one big, stark difference that kept him frozen as a statue.

            He was knocked out of his shocked as a snowball slammed into the side of his neck. He slowly turned his head to find Chuck kneeling in the snow, balling up another handful of snow.  Thomas clenched his jaw as Chuck looked up and met his gaze.  Something mischievous glinted in his eye and he quickly cocked his arm back and propelled it forward.  Thomas shifted just in time to let the snowball soar past him.

            Chuck’s laugh echoed across the Haven.

            “Chuck!” Thomas snapped in a harsh whisper.  “What are you doing?”  
  
            “It’s snow, Thomas!”

            “I know what it is.  What is it doing here?”

            Chuck shrugged. “Does it matter?”

            Thomas eyed the Haven.  The Gardens were completely draped in white, any hope of fresh vegetables and grains dashed.  The woods were covered with snow, which meant animals would surely be hibernating.  The sea still roared as it washed onto the shore, but Thomas was sure that if he even tried to stick a finger in it, it’d freeze and fall off.

            “Incoming!” Chuck yelled.

            Thomas flinched as another snowball soared past him.  “Chuck!”

            “Come on, Thomas! Have a little fun!” he laughed as he tumbled forward in the snow.

            “This isn’t fun, Chuck,” he said.  “It’s cold and now I have to worry about how to make sure hundreds of people are going to be fed.”  
  
            “You’ll find a way, Thomas,” Chuck shrugged as he laid back in the snow.  “You always do.”

            Thomas could feel his nostrils flare as Chuck started sliding his arms and legs back and forth to make a snow angel. 

            A moment later he jumped up and hopped away to look at his creation.  “Good, huh?”

            “Fantastic,” Thomas answered flatly.  He crunched through the snow toward him.  “Listen, Chuck.  As glad as I am to see you – and don’t get me wrong, I love being able to see you again – I know you’re not really here.  This isn’t you.”

            “Sure it is,” Chuck shrugged.

            Thomas eyed him.

            “I’ve been watching you, Thomas.  You forgot how to have fun.  I came back to remind you.”

            “I haven’t _forgotten_ how to have fun, Chuck.  It’s just that there’s a time and place for everything.”  
  
            “Yeah, including your attitude.”  
  
            Thomas blinked at him, a bit surprised at the snip in his voice.

            “What happened to you, Thomas? You used to know how to laugh and relax. You used to know how to play.”  
  
            Thomas balked at him.  “I still have fun.”  
  
            “What do you do for fun around here, then?” Chuck asked, hands finding their place on his hips.

            Thomas gaped as he looked around the Haven.  “I… keep people in check.  I make sure they’re on top of their jobs.”

            “YAWN,” Chuck yelled.  “That’s boring.”

            Thomas glared at him.  “I try Frypan’s dessert sometimes.  That’s fun, considering he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing half the time.”  
  
            Chuck rolled his eyes dramatically. “Boring.  You’re boring.  You don’t remember what it’s like to be a kid.”  
  
            “I never got to be a kid, Chuck,” Thomas reminded him.  “This was my childhood – surviving. It’s what I do.”

            “Yeah, Thomas,” Chuck nodded.  “You survive, but that doesn’t mean you’re _living_.  I think I signed up for more than I bargained for,” he shook his head. “Come on.  We’d better get started.”  
  
            “Started on what?” he asked as Chuck walked past him toward a tent down the line.  “Chuck? Chuck! It’s curfew, where are you going? Don’t go waking people up.”

            “I’m not, Thomas,” he said as he turned to face him.  “They’re already up.”

            “What?”

            “It’s Havenday.  You really think people are asleep right now?”  
  
            Thomas blinked at him.

            “They’re too excited to sleep!” Chuck laughed.  “Look!”  He reached to the side and pulled back the opening to a tent.

            “Chuck!” Thomas whispered harshly.  He gestured for him to close it.

            “They can’t see us,” Chuck rolled his eyes.  “Haven’t you already been through this twice? Didn’t Alby and Teresa teach you that already?”

            Thomas folded his arms across his chest.  “Okay, fine!”

            Chuck looked pointedly inside the tent.

            Thomas huffed and then stepped forward to peer inside.

            _Aris sat inside on the floor of his tent, fastening something together attached to a string.  Across from him sat another girl tediously working on something in her hands._

Thomas vaguely recognized her from the Haven, but couldn’t remember her name.  “What are they doing?” he asked Chuck.

            “Preparing for the holiday,” Chuck smiled.

 

            _The girl started humming some melody as her brows furrowed and she focus narrowed on a knot she was tying.  Her hands struggled with the movement, a bandage wrapped around two of her fingers and another across her palm._

_Aris flicked his gaze up to her with a smile on his face.  “Is that another song, Kay?”  He reached forward and tied the knot for her before he handed it back._

_The girl looked up suddenly as if just remembering he was there.  “Oh,” she laughed. “Sorry, yeah.”_

_“It’s okay,” Aris nodded. “Keep singing.”_

_Kay smiled back down at the thing in her burnt hands and began singing the words to some song Thomas didn’t recognize._

_After a verse, Aris started humming along and placed the finished item to the side next to a pile of others._

            Thomas watched Chuck run over and pick up one of the items – a small, carved wooden horse – and started setting it up with some of the others in a line.  After four of them were set up he started making them gallop forward in a herd.

            “What are they?” Thomas asked as he crouched down next to Chuck.

            Chuck shrugged. “Horses.”  
  
            “Yeah,” Thomas laughed.  “But why?”

            “Why not?” Chuck looked up at him. “Here.” He reached a horse out to Thomas.

            Thomas hesitantly took the horse from him and eyed it.  It was a small, shoddily carved bit of wood, but there was a bit of paint on it to give it eyes and some small details.  A fleeting thought skimmed through him and made him wonder where they procured the wood, what they made the paints with and how they planned to replenish the supplies they’d stolen.

            “Hey,” Chuck nudged him.  “I’ll race ya.”

            “What?”

            “Your horse versus mine, come on.”

            “I don’t think so, Chuck,” he laughed.

            “What? Afraid you’re gonna lose?”  
  
            “No,” Thomas insisted.  “Just don’t see the point,” he tossed the horse back into the pile and stood up.  “It’s all wasted material and for what? What good does it do?”  
  
            Chuck looked up at him, but didn’t say anything. He placed the horse down with the others and stood up and brushed his pants off.  “I have something else to show you.”  
  
            Thomas rubbed his arms from the cool chill in the air as they stepped back out of the tent and into the snow.  “Fine, but quickly.”

            He followed Chuck through the snow two tents over, pulling up the collar of his jacket against the chill.  He stepped beneath the tarp of the tent and looked over Chuck’s head to the people gathered inside. 

            _Frypan sat with a girl_ – Lauren, he thinks her name was – _going through a small notepad.  “We’ve got the cinnamon roll bread, the scramble squash, and whatever Minho will be able to supply us with tomorrow morning.”_

_“Is that going to be enough?” Lauren asked.  “There are hundreds of people here.”_

_Frypan shrugged. “It’ll have to be.  It’s just going to be small portions for everyone, I guess.  I’m sure Minho will have something good for us.  He’s never let us down before.”_

_“That’s true,” she nodded and peered over his shoulder at the list.  “Will we be able to make that many rolls?” She pointed to something on the notepad._

_“I think so,” he nodded.  “We’ve been freezing the bread for a few weeks now.  As long as it all stayed okay, we’ll have enough to give a half piece to a bunch of people. It won’t be able to go to everyone, but as long as all the kids gets some it should be fine.”_

_“And are you making the stew?”_

_Frypan twisted his mouth and slowly shook his head.  “Thomas didn’t want me to.”_

_“What? Why not?”_

_Frypan shrugged.  “It was our friend’s favorite and I think it upsets him.”_

_“So?” Lauren furrowed her brow.  “Shouldn’t he be enjoying it? In honor of him?”  
  
_            _Frypan shrugged.  “Not everyone’s like that, I guess.”_

 _“You mean Thomas isn’t like that,” she corrected.  “He’d rather no one enjoy it if your friend can’t.”_  
  
            “Everyone mourns in their own way,” Frypan sighed.

_“For this long?” she asked. “Not that I think there’s a time limit on it, trust me.  Sam only died three nights ago – I fully get it.  But why do you think I asked you to make the squash sandwiches?”_

_“Listen, I get it,” Frypan nodded.  “I do.  I wanted to make this as a way for me to remember Newt.  To heal for myself.  But,” he shrugged, “Thomas doesn’t want that.”_  
  
            “It’s getting to a point where I don’t care what he-,” her sentence was cut off at a sudden crying from the corner of the tent.  “Shoot,” she whispered.  “I didn’t realize how loud I’d gotten.”  Lauren scurried off to the corner.

            “Who is she to decide how I deal with Newt’s death?” Thomas snapped, turning to Chuck.

            “Who are you to decide how _they_ do?” Chuck asked quietly.

            Thomas eyed him for a moment, struggling for a response.  He turned forward again as Lauren stood from where she’d crouched down by a crate of blankets. 

 

            _A small bundle was held in her arms._

_“Is he okay?” Frypan asked._

_“I think so,” she nodded and smiled up at him.  “Just got woken up.”_

 

            “I didn’t know she had a kid,” Thomas looked down at Chuck.

            “Of course you didn’t,” Chuck shrugged.

            Thomas blinked back at the words, but didn’t respond.  Chuck had a point – of course he didn’t know.  He never bothered to find out.  Suddenly, something tightened in his chest.  “Wait,” he breathed.

            Chuck simply looked up at him, waiting.

            “If this is her son,” Thomas shook his head. “Her boyfriend, Sam, died of the Flare.”

            Chuck nodded slowly.

            Thomas turned back to the child tucked into Lauren’s arms as she swayed back and forth.  “If they… if he…”

            “Come on, Thomas,” Chuck said quietly.  “More to see.”  
  
            Thomas followed Chuck to the exit, but then looked back over his shoulder once more before leaving.

 

_Lauren smiled down at the boy in her arms, swaying back and forth._

_Frypan stood up.  “It’s a shame Sam won’t be here for Havenday, but I’m sure Ethan will know he’s watching somewhere, somehow.”_

_“Of course he will,” Lauren said through her smile._

 

            “Thomas.”

            “Yeah,” he nodded to Chuck.  “I’m coming.” He pulled his gaze away and left the tent.

            The snow crunched beneath their boots as they walked in silence to the Food Hut.  “No one should be in there,” Thomas said quietly.  “It’s-,”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Chuck waved him off.  “Curfew, I know.  Just follow me.  You’ll learn that you’re the only one who seems to care about curfew tonight.”

            Thomas ducked into the food tent behind Chuck and was immediately greeted with the scent of corn and something sweet.  Laughter mixed in with a light tinkling sound and Thomas followed it further into the Hut, skirting long tables and stools.  It grew warmer the further he walked, despite the chill from the air outside.

            He stopped walking when he found Brenda and Gally laughing while working at a table covered with several cups and a large bowl of some brown liquid.  The scent struck Thomas immediately, familiar and saccharine.

 

_Brenda focused on stirring the liquid round with a long wooden spoon as Gally was muddling something into a smaller tin cup.  His gaze lifted a bit to eye her sideways and then his mouth curled into a smirk as he took the muddler out and shook the excess liquid off of it at her._

_“Hey!” she called over, mouth open in shock._

_Gally’s eyes were back on the cup in his hand, feigning innocence._

_Brenda ran her tongue over her teeth and picked up a kernel of corn from a bowl and tossed it at his cheek._

_He whipped his head up and raised his brows.  “Oh, that’s it,” he laughed._

_Brenda dropped the spoon and jetted round the table as Gally tore after her.  He stopped short and backtracked the other way to cut her off, but she stopped at the other end of the table across from him and waited, trying to figure out which way to run. He grinned a dare at her across the surface._

_She feigned right and tore left around the table._

_Gally, who initially fell for the feint, pushed the bowl aside and slid across the surface of the table to land directly behind her as she sprinted past.  He reached forward and wrapped his arms around her waist to keep her from running forward, their laughter melting together and ringing through the hut._

_She turned to face him, his hands still settled at her waist, and looked up at him, small smile on her face and a brightness in her gaze that Thomas had never seen from her before._

            “Gally and Brenda?” Thomas asked, tilting his head at the scene ahead of him. “When did that happen?”

            “A while now,” Chuck sighed, drawing a smiling face in the leftover flour on a table.  “It’s in its early stages.  Do you remember what that’s like?” he asked, looking up at Thomas.  “The excitement?  The happiness?  The feeling that no matter what happened or what was to come, you’d be okay? Because at least you’d experienced some level of happiness that you never thought you could have.  That you never thought you deserved.”

            Thomas kept his gaze focused on the scene.

 

_Gally awkwardly let his hands fall from her waist as he dropped his gaze._

_Brenda took a small step back and cleared her throat as she turned to the mess on the table.  “So, uh, I think it’s strong enough.”_

_“Yeah,” he laughed.  “We could probably even lighten it up a bit.”_  
  
            They glanced up at each other again, smiles still present, and then got back to work.

 

            “My god,” Thomas laughed, smiling himself now at seeing them both like this.  “How have I missed this?”

            “Look, Thomas,” Chuck called from the door of the hut.  “It’s all over the Haven.”

            Thomas walked around one of the tables and joined Chuck in the doorway.  He ducked out of the hut and caught sight of people all over, scattered about and laughing about the snow.  Some of them were stringing lights up, some were bringing gifts out toward the Fire Circle. Chuck bounded off across the snow ahead of him, weaving in and out of others.  Thomas slowly followed him, taking in the flurry of movement and excitement around him.  Next to the Fire Circle, Vince and Jorge were crouched with a checklist, marking things off and writing things on the wrapped gifts. 

            Thomas stepped forward to get a better look at some of the packages.  Names were scribbled on the paper of each: Minho, Kay, Aris and more.  Thomas scanned the pile and looked down over Vince’s shoulder as he picked up another unmarked package.

           

_“Who’s next?” Vince nodded at Jorge._

_“Thomas.”_  
  
            Vince looked down and scribbled Thomas on the paper of the gift.

 

            “For me?” Thomas asked softly.  “But I haven’t given anything in.”

            “It’s not about that,” Chuck said as he shook one of the gifts addressed to Frypan.  “It’s about giving to others.  They wouldn’t want to exclude you – even if you didn’t participate.”

 

_More people brought gifts over – most of them small, not much bigger than Thomas’ hand.  Still, Vince and Jorge thanked them with the same smiles they gave to anyone who had a bigger gift to spare or more than one. Every bit counted._

_Aris jogged over with a bag of tiny gifts – no doubt the horses he’d been carving with Kay.  “Here ya go, Vince.”_

_“What’s this?” Vince asked him.  “Another bag?”_

_Aris shrugged.  “Want to make sure no one gets forgotten.”_

_“No one will,” Vince laughed.  “We’ll make sure of it.”_

 

            Thomas pulled his gaze away and continued walking through the Haven, watching the others help string up more lights and handmade wreaths.  Three of the Haveners worked together to build a tall snowman, bigger than Thomas, excitedly talking about how nice it’ll be for the kids to see it when they wake up.

            Thomas paused at the stone jetty, peering over it when he heard laughter coming from the other side of it.

 

_Only a little further from the jetty, a smaller bonfire was being set up by two Haveners.  There was a small tree about five feet high that Minho was balancing in the snow and Sonya and Harriet worked to string twine through little carved wooden shapes to hang on the tree._

_“You think this will be enough?” Sonya asked._

_“What the decorations?” one of the boys asked.  “Are you kidding? It’ll be great.”_

_“The tree’s only so big, Sonya,” Minho grunted as he finished balancing it.  “Any more than what you have there the thing will fall over.”_

_Sonya joined the others’ laughter but shrugged.  “I just want to make sure.  It’s the first time I’m doing this.”_

_“It’s gonna be perfect,” Harriet said as she tugged her closer and pressed a kiss to her hair._

_Sonya gave her a small smile and then dropped her gaze to the string in her hands. “I invited Thomas.”_

_One of the boys choked on something as Minho snorted.  “Are you kidding me?”_

_“No,” Sonya shrugged._

_“He’s never gonna come, Sonya,” Minho laughed.  “He hates this stuff.”_

_“He might come,” she said._

_“I hope he sprains his wrist checking off his stupid boxes and can’t come,” one of the boys mumbled._

_The other joined in the laughter and even Minho’s mouth quirked up in a smile._

_“Listen,” Sonya insisted.  “He’s our friend and he’s practically family.  He deserves to be invited along just as everyone else.”_  
  
            Harriet smiled at her fondly.  “Well, fine.  For your sake, I hope he lightens up and comes by, but don’t get your hopes up.”  
  
            “Yeah,” Minho said as he sat next to her and started helping with the ornaments.  “He’s pretty content to be on his own, but I’ll admit: it’d be nice to see him come join us for a bit.”

 

            Thomas dropped his gaze to the snow below his boots and turned to Chuck. “Is this really how they talk about me?”

            “Have you given them a reason not to?” Chuck asked, dusting off snow from his gloves.

            Thomas furrowed a brow and looked back at the rest of the Haven.  Everyone still bustled to and fro, laughing and passing gifts over to Vince and Jorge.  “Everyone’s so happy to be together, despite losing so many people.”

            “You have to be grateful for what you still have,” Chuck said.  “You can’t spend all your time only thinking about what you’ve lost.”  
  
            “Brenda lost her brother,” Thomas said, “Aris lost Rachel, Lauren lost Sam…” he shook his head.  “And yet…”

            Chuck nodded next to him.

            Thomas suddenly eyed the tent that Lauren and Frypan had been in.  “And Lauren’s son, Ethan?  Will he be okay or is he infected?”  
  
            “If things stay the way they are, then he’ll die,” Chuck said quietly.

            “What?” Thomas breathed, focus still on the tent.  “He’s just a kid.  He’s younger than y-.” Thomas furrowed a brow as he turned to find that Chuck had gone.  “Chuck?”  He turned around again to see Sonya’s bonfire gone as well; only sand remained ahead of him.  “Chuck!” He turned again and the entire Haven was empty, snow vanished and sand and stone scattered about.  “Chuck! What…? Where did you-?”

            A single bell chimed across the Haven.

            And then another.

            And then another.


	6. The Haven Yet to Be

            Thomas closed his eyes and breathed deep to brace himself.  He exhaled and opened his eyes to the dark night around him.  The Sea was still, barely a ripple through it as the air settled around him.  The night was eerily silent.  There was not even a single drop of ambient noise.  In the far, far distance he could just about make out the Haven, but it seemed miles off from where he’d somehow ended up.  He steadied himself as he made to walk back toward it, but paused as he heard a noise behind him.  And then another. 

            The noise was soft, quiet and came in a rhythmic pattern.  Dirt shifted around. Something scraped against it.  He took another deep breath and turned around.  The woods were spread far back ahead of him now, trees thick and ground littered with leaves and stones.  And the noise continued.

            Thomas’ eyes scanned the tree line looking for the culprit of the sound.  When he found nothing, he glanced around him once more.  The better part of him knew he wasn’t alone – not really.  He’d gone through enough by now to know he’d be meeting his third spirit here.  And so, he waited. And the noise continued. 

            After a few more minutes, no one joined Thomas on the outskirts of the forest.  He looked around him once more and peered into the woods.  He considered his options: he could head back to the Haven and into his tent, or he could move toward the sound deep in the woods.  He knew what he wanted to do, but more than that – he knew what he had to do.  He moved forward into the forest.  And the noise continued. 

            The copse of trees grew thicker as he made his way further into the darkness with thin streams of moonlight the only way to see his path.  His gaze wandered through the trees, waiting for any sign of movement, but there was nothing.  He kept making his way toward the sounds.

            After a few more minutes of walking, sure that he was lost inside of the forest, he finally saw movement ahead of him.  He paused and squinted through the trees and then started walking faster toward it.  He swept a low-hanging branch out of his way and found the cause of the repetitive noises.  Ahead of him were two boys silently digging into the forest floor.  The shovels scraped against the dirt as they synchronically pushed them in and then, together, they both lifted their shovels and tossed the dirt into piles next to them.  In with the shovels.  Out with the dirt.  Repeat.

            “Excuse me,” Thomas tried.

            In with the shovels.

            Out with the dirt.

            Repeat.

            “Excuse me!” he called a little louder.  “Are either of you the spirit of the future?”

            In with the shovels.

            Out with the dirt.

            Repeat.

            Thomas scratched the back of his head and looked around him.  He dropped his hand and walked closer to them to stand next to the hole they were digging.  “Hello?” he tried again.  “Hi, I’m Thomas?” he asked, more than said.  “Are you my ghost?”

            The two boys continued digging, seemingly unaware of his presence. 

            He turned away from them again to glance around the forest.  He suddenly paused as he caught sight of two more boys digging in the same rhythm a small way off.  He spared one last look at the original pair before he made his way through the rough brush and stones and twigs.  “Hello?” he called out to them.  “Are either of you here for me? I’m Thomas!” He looked at their faces.  He recognized these boys from the Haven, but they were much older now.  Nearly ten, fifteen years older.  “Hello?” he tried again as he reached them. 

            In with the shovels.

            Out with the dirt.

            Repeat.

            Thomas sighed, frustration nipping at his thoughts.  Where the hell was he supposed to go?  Did he miss a sign?  Was there a clue?  He turned back to the original pair to find yet a third set far, far beyond them.  He started walking toward them but turned midway as he found yet another pair in the distance, a bit to the right.  “What the hell…?” he breathed.  He turned in a slow circle to find pairs and pairs of people digging throughout the forest – all in the same rhythmic pattern – the sounds echoing around him. 

            There was a sudden shadow of a movement between the trees that made him freeze.  His eyes scanned the trees again, but he lost sight of it.  His gaze bounced from pair of diggers to pair of diggers and then once again he saw the shadow duck through two more trees. “Hello?” he called out.  He took a step forward and then felt the brush of a breeze behind him.  He spun on the spot – only to catch the tail end of the shadow whip behind another tree.  “It’s me! It’s Thomas!” he called out, walking forward.  “I’m who you’re looking for!”

            The breeze whipped behind him again and he spun round.  The Shadow zipped behind another tree and then flashed between two more.  He clenched his jaw, irritated as he tried to keep up with it.  He spun again and froze immediately – his breathing halted and nerves shattered instantly.  In front of him, a mere sliver of distance away, stood a cloaked figure in all shadows.

            Thomas swallowed as he finally remembered how to breathe and his heart began its beating again.  “Are you my spirit of the future?”

            The figure didn’t respond.  Its hood shrouded its face, but Thomas still somehow felt the stare on him.

            “I take it that’s why I can’t see you,” he reasoned quietly.  He glanced around him again and then brought his gaze back to the spirit as he came to a conclusion.  “I know why you’re here.  Take me,” he nodded.  “Bring me to the future.  I have no idea what’s there and what I’ll find but,” he swallowed and looked around him in the darkness.  “I know I need to see it.”  He looked back at the figure.   It simply continued its stare.  Something creeped up inside of Thomas’ chest, clawing its way toward his heart.  He swallowed again, trying to force it down, but the shadow inside of him continued its ascent – rib by rib.  “Show me,” he gasped.  “Please.”

            The figure simply lifted a covered arm and pointed toward the two gravediggers.

            Thomas looked over his shoulder at them as they continued to dig.  In with the shovels. Out with the dirt. Repeat.  He swallowed.  “Okay,” he breathed. “Okay.”

           

_“I can’t believe he kicked it,” one of the boys said, shaking his head.  He pushed his shovel back into the dirt.  “After all this time.”_

_“It was bound to happen,” the other boy shrugged and used the back of his arm to wipe the sheen of sweat from his forehead._

_“Yeah, but like this?” the first boy laughed._

_“Couldn’t care less,” the second boy sighed and dug another pile of dirt out from the hole._

_“Oh, neither could I; don’t get me wrong.”_

_“You think anyone’ll show?”_

_The first boy snorted.  “They’d better, if only to see our handiwork.”_

_The two of them shared a laugh._

_In with the shovels._

_Out with the dirt._

_Repeat._

 

            A sudden wave of black took over Thomas’ vision as the Spirit whisked him away from the two diggers.

            The darkness cleared and he stood in the middle of the Haven.  It wasn’t quite the same Haven he remembered though. 

 

_The tents had been replaced with full huts, sturdier and larger.  Grassed and branched roofs hung over strong wooden bases.  Some of them even had small squares carved out for windows.  Even the sand of the Haven was sturdier, somehow.  Wooden slats formed a floor from the rows of huts to about midway down the beach before it tucked into the sand._

_People made their way through the Haven, going about their business.  Younger kids jogged over to a much larger hut off to the side with small books in their arms.  Instead of the usual firepit where they held their meetings, there was a large podium with a plaque that simply read Haven.  In front of that were curved rows of benches facing it._

            “Wow,” Thomas breathed.  “It looks… it looks amazing.”

            The spirit simply gestured to one of the large huts to the side. 

            Thomas furrowed a brow and walked over.  The closer he got, the easier it was to hear the sudden recurring clanging sound; metal on metal as it echoed toward him.  He climbed up built wooden steps and onto a small platform deck and peered in through the open door. 

            Inside, Gally was hard at work: hammer to the nail once, twice, again, again.

            The spirit’s arm reached around Thomas to push the door open wider and Thomas barely spared a glance backward as he stepped into the room. 

 

_Gally’s eyes were shadowed, the faintest hint of stubble around his mouth.  Surrounding him were boxes of every size – 8 feet, 5 feet, 3 feet and more.  All rectangular in shape, they were piled in rows against the walls, doors hinged to them._

 

            “Coffins,” Thomas breathed.  “He’s – he’s building coffins.” 

 

            _Just beyond Gally at a table in the back was another girl hard as work sanding down long slabs of wood to smooth them out._

            “How many could they possibly need?”

            A hand gripped the back of Thomas’ shirt and yanked him backward from the hut.

            Thomas let the spirit swing him round and push him forward.  Ahead of him, Harriet and two others he didn’t recognize were sat on the ground going through several crates.

 

_Harriet scoffed, disgusted as she tossed some ratty piece of fabric off to the side into a pile of other junk.  She sifted through a few more things inside the crate and then pulled out a pair of sturdy boots.  She messed a bit with the ankles of them, pulled the laces and checked the bottoms.  “Wasn’t worth your spit while he was around, but now that he’s dead,” she shrugged and put the boots in another pile with books and lockboxes.  “Not a bad find.” She sifted again through the crate._

 

            Thomas furrowed a brow and stared at the boots.  “Aren’t… aren’t those Vince’s?”  He turned to the spirit.  “Or are they Jorge’s, maybe?”  His focus shifted to the left of the Spirit where, beyond him three people were carting a tall, wooden case with shelves built into it from a hut.  His stomach dropped, but before he could say anything, the Spirit lifted a cloaked arm and swiped the view from him.

            When the cloak was pulled back again, Thomas looked on as a group of four – Gally now with them – walked past, carrying one of the four-foot long caskets on their shoulders.  They made their way toward the woods, eyes low, as Frypan and Kay trailed behind them, hands linked together. 

            Thomas looked from Kay’s damp face and red eyes up to the small box.  The group made their way closer and closer to the woods.  “Ethan…” Thomas breathed.  “But he was so young.  He didn’t…” Thomas turned to the Spirit.  “Tell me he didn’t die of infection.  He doesn’t deserve that.”

            The Spirit simply continued its stare at him – unmoving.

            “Tell me!” Thomas yelled, ignoring the way his eyes burned and his head ached.  “Tell me he didn’t die of something he couldn’t control! It wasn’t his fault! He doesn’t deserve this! It’s not his fault his father was infec-!”

            The Spirit lifted an arm swiftly to its chest and, in one movement, tore the cloak from itself.

            Thomas’ words caught in his throat as his chest collapsed inside of him.  He legs lost feeling, his head pulsed with clouded memory and his heart tore inside of him as he looked up into black-plated eyes, dark veins scarring a gaunt face. Thomas slowly reached a hand out toward him, but held back just inches from actually touching him.  His hand stilled in the air between them.  Newt only stared wordlessly back at him, his mouth in a scarred line. The only movement he offered was a slight and sudden tilt of his head to look at something over Thomas’ shoulder.

            Thomas allowed a single breath before he turned slowly to find what the Spirit – _Newt_ , he reminded himself – was looking at.  His gaze caught on the cenotaph they’d built in the Haven three years ago.  Though now, Thomas considered, it had to be several years older.  The stone was weathered; its edges curved with age and names that were once so clearly carved into it were worn down and faded to slight indentations.  The more horrifying part of it though, wasn’t the abstract age of the stone, but how its display grew.  Names were cluttered, squeezed here and there around the stone.  He scanned the stone and came upon the familiar names: Winston, Jeff, Ben.  But as he continued, his breaths shallowed. Lauren, Aris, Jorge. He continued to walk around the side of the stone, more and more names appearing of Haveners he’d known in passing but never had the chance to meet: Robbie, Kendra, Joanie and so many more.  His gaze caught on a small, tilted display of _Ethan_.  His fingers brushed lightly over the name, felt how fresh the carving was compared to some of those around it.  And then he saw it.  There, at the bottom of the stone.  He crouched down and brushed away the sand, dug a bit to display the full name.

            Thomas dropped his hands to the sand in defeat, staring at the letters grown so familiar to who he was.  He let them sink into him, wrap around his heart and squeeze it until it ached in a way that only he deserved. 

 

            _“It’s a lot better now, I’ll tell you that much,” Frypan sighed._

 

            Thomas furrowed a brow and turned to look over his shoulder. 

 

_Frypan sat at a small picnic table with Sonya and some person Thomas didn’t recognize.  “It’s more comfortable and happier.  Don’t you agree?” he looked at Sonya as he upended a bag and spilled its contents onto the table._

_Sonya simply shrugged.  “I suppose,” she sifted through the items and picked up a small carved wooden figurine.  She dropped it carelessly back into the pile.  “It’s sad when anyone dies, but I guess you have to see the silver lining in it.”_  
  
            “And what a silver lining it is,” Frypan murmured through a laugh.  He furrowed a brow and pulled something else from the pile.  A long, thin chain appeared wrapped around his finger and finally as he freed it from the tangled mess, a small cylindrical capsule hung from the end of it. Frypan raised a single brow at it and tossed it to the side.  “It’s all junk.”

 _“Don’t know why he kept any of it,” Sonya shook her head as she swiped it all off the table into another bag – the items clinking and clanking into several others.  “I’ll bring this to the incinerator.  You start going through the next one.”_  
  
            “On it,” Frypan sighed, upending another bag to the table.

 

            “What?” Thomas gasped.  “That’s – no! No, Sonya! Sonya that’s not garbage!” he jogged after her as she walked toward another hut beyond the table.  “Open the capsule!” Thomas called as he slowed to a stop, knowing she couldn’t hear him.  “It’s not…” his sentence faded as something cold and heavy dripped through him, down his ribs in a slithering trail.

 

_“There is work to be done, but it’s not run like a prison,” Minho’s voice explained somewhere behind him._

 

            Thomas turned to see the picnic table gone and replaced with Minho – nearly twenty years older than the last time Thomas had seen him – walking a new girl through the Haven.

 

_The Haven had again advanced, more stable ground, larger huts and houses and tables and chairs scattered about._

_“We’ll get you started with construction, but I’ll probably have you go through each position just to give you an idea of how it all runs here.  Does that sound good?”_

_“Yeah,” she nodded as they joined some people seated at a round table.  “I can’t believe how advanced this place is.”_  
  
            “It’s been running twenty-six years now,” Minho explained taking the seat next to her.

_“You were here at the beginning?” she asked._

_“We all were,” a girl across from her answered._

 

            Thomas slowly circled the table and took in Brenda’s face, eyes older and long black hair tied over her shoulder. 

           

            _Next to her Gally flipped through a notebook, pencil stuck behind the frame of a pair of thick glasses._

_“Are you Thomas?” the girl asked, eyeing Gally._

_He looked up at her and snorted. “God, no.”_

_Minho and Brenda shared an amused glance._

_“Oh,” the girl said.  “I meant no offense.  It’s just that, I’ve heard a lot about him and the way he ran the place.”_

_“No,” Brenda laughed. “He’s long gone. Minho’s in charge now.”_

_Minho shrugged. “Thomas used to run it, but he never really let it become its own place.  He ran it like WCKD had us running the place we were all stuck in when we were younger.  He never escaped WCKD.  Not really.”_

_“It’s better for everyone now that he’s gone,” Brenda said softly. “Himself included.”_

_“Who’s Thomas?” a smaller voice asked suddenly._

            Thomas blinked back in surprise at the little girl seated between Gally and Brenda, who he’d barely noticed before she spoke.

 

            _“No one, sweetie,” Gally said, running a hand down her back.  “No one you’ve ever met.”_

_The girl shrugged and went back to scribbling colored lines on paper._

            “They had a child,” Thomas breathed, “and I never met her.  Did I die before she was born?” he turned to Newt, but Newt only watched him with those dark eyes, still mouth and near frozen stature. “No,” Thomas answered himself.  “No, I was never around.  I stopped trying, didn’t I?”

            Newt blinked down at him.

            In the glow of the setting sun, something seemed different about his Spirit – almost like he was trying to understand something.  His features softened, only slightly. Thomas wondered briefly if it could be a kind of sympathy. 

            He turned from Newt and eyed the entire Haven around him, running seamlessly and easily with routine.  It’d run that way for years.  Houses being built, families being built, an entire lifetime of memories – and nothing to show he’d ever been a part of it, save for half of a carved name reaching up from the sand.  “This future,” he said quietly, “they’re better without me, aren’t they?” 

            Newt didn’t respond, but Thomas no longer needed him to. 

            Thomas’ gaze continued through the groups of people milling about sharing laughs and greetings.  “I can make it better, though,” he said, determination creeping up from the darkness inside of him.  It latched onto his lowest rib and pulled itself up, pushing through the dripping shame.  “I can make it better,” he repeated.  “And I will.  I’ll make it so I can be a part of it.”  He turned and eyed Brenda and Gally’s daughter, then turned to look across to Frypan and Lauren sitting on their own peacefully.  “I’ve wasted so much time mourning, regretting and hating everything the world threw at me,” Thomas shook his head as Sonya picked up a little boy and rested him on her hip – brown eyes and blonde hair glistening in the evening glow.  “I never looked at the good it handed me too.  My friends – once family.  All the memories I still have,” he turned to take in the place the Haven had become – a true Safe Haven.  “I can change.”  He turned to Newt, still watching him with a nondescript expression.  Thomas swallowed the shame down as the determination pushed its way up and took a hold of him, began to steer him toward a decision.  “I can see a future with me in it; happiness and a brand new life.  I can see love and brightness.  I see that now – because of you.  Because of all of you.  Give me time to change.”  He turned back to the Haven and began taking steps toward it.  “Let me live what I’ve learned.”  He took another step forward, resolve set in his chest, but a hand gripped his shoulder – tight – and yanked him backward and spun him round.

            A yelp escaped his throat as his ankle twisted on the floor and he caught the blurred vision of Newt’s scars before he was falling backward.  He spun and landed hard into the dirt of the forest floor, rocks and twigs jabbing into his sides and back as he tumbled further and suddenly he dropped lower, fell through the air for a split second and then landed hard on his back against the ground.  He groaned with the ache in his body and pushed himself up to stand, hands sinking into the damp earth below him.  He brushed them off on his jeans and then froze as he heard metal scrape against dirt.  A moment later, a small pile of dirt rained down on him.

            He shut his eyes and shook his head to it, spitting it out of his mouth. He ran a hand down his face as he heard the metal scrape the earth again. He squinted above him in the dark night and saw two people above him at the surface, filling the hole that he now stood in.  His eyes caught on Newt standing between them, looking down at him.  Thomas tilted his head at Newt’s dark eyes.  His face was angled just slightly past Thomas – not quite looking at him, but just beyond him. Thomas slowly turned to follow Newt’s focus and looked down to see a body lying in the dirt below him.  A gaunt, slack and shadowed face, scattered moles across its features and brown hair speckled with dirt. 

            Thomas’ chest hollowed, his breathing near gone as he looked into his own face, more bits of dirt landing at his stilled chest. He stumbled backward into the wall of the hole, a scream tearing from his throat. He spun and scrabbled at the dirt wall behind him, searching for purchase – anything to pull himself up and out from the grave.  The dirt found a home beneath his fingernails as he clawed his way up, but continued to slip.  More and more dirt piled into the grave, coating him – both versions of him.  “Please!” he called, staring up into Newt’s blackened eyes.  “Please! Help me!” Newt watched him for just a breath more before he turned away out of sight. “No!” Thomas screamed up.  “No! Newt! Please! Don’t leave me here!” Dirt was thrown down into the grave again.

            Out with the shovel.

            In with the dirt.

            Repeat.

            “Please!”

            Out with the shovel.

            In with the dirt.

            Repeat.

            “Newt! Help me!”

            Out with the shovel.

            In with the dirt.

            His vision blacked out as the dirt coated his face and he tumbled down to the grave floor.


	7. Havenday

            Thomas woke to cold sea air, salt and brine and something very sharp and new.  A bell chimed in the distance and he froze.  Another followed.  Another.  Another.  Another.  Another.  He reached and pulled the blankets from where they’d got tangled around him and pushed the pillow from over his head.  Sunlight yawned into the quiet of his empty tent.  He looked around quickly, but there were no lingering spirits.  His desk was back to its normal position instead of where it had been pushed against the far corner.  There were no scratches from chain links on the floorboards.  There was no snowy residue, no shattered remnants of the glass orb and no trace of dirt and stone from the woods.  He pushed himself up from his bed and pulled on his boots.  The hairs on his arms stood on end, either from nerves or cold.  Perhaps both.  He pulled the smaller blanket from the crate next to his bed and wrapped it around his shoulders as he started to slowly make his way to the tent entrance.  He took a deep breath and zipped it open. 

            The beach was quiet in the creeping dawn’s light. The sky still had a pink glow as the sun lazily made its way above the horizon.  And then, slowly, the sounds of morning began to meld together.  The wind whistled through branches and pressed against tents, the zippers peeled down, boots pressed into the sand and shivered yawns escaped tired mouths. The Haven was waking up.

            Thomas squinted to the side three tents down as a young boy about half his age stumbled from the tent rubbing his eyes.  “Excuse me!” Thomas called down to him.  “Excuse me?” he stepped toward the boy.

            The boy paused and glanced around him before he pointed to himself.

            “Yeah, you!” Thomas laughed, a vision of Chuck slicing through his mind.

            The boy’s face paled a bit as he slowly walked toward Thomas.  “Yes?”  
  
            “Can you tell me what day it is?”  
  
            The boy eyed Thomas oddly.  “It’s Thursday.”

            “Thursday?”

            “Yeah,” the boy nodded.  “It’s Havenday.”

            “It’s Havenday,” Thomas repeated.  “I haven’t missed it then.  The spirits must have done it all in one night.  Well, obviously they did. They can do anything they want, can’t they?”  
  
            The boy lowered a brow.  
  
            “Do you know if the Hunters have brought over the food for tonight’s dinner yet?”

            “I should hope so,” the boy laughed. 

            “You should hope so,” Thomas laughed.  “Adorable.”

            The boy looked around confused again as if to be sure Thomas was talking to him.

            “I have to hurry,” Thomas said as he tightened the blanket around his shoulders.  “Can’t have dinner without stew.”

            “O…kay…”

            Thomas turned and started walking back to his tent, but halted a few steps away and spun toward the boy.  “Excuse me!”

            “Yes?” the boy asked slowly.

            “What’s your name?”  
  
            The boy blinked at him.  “Robbie.”

            Thomas tilted his head a fraction as his breath caught deep in his chest.  He blinked himself back and nodded.  “Well, Robbie.  I hope you have an amazing Havenday.  Save a snowball fight for me, okay?”

            Robbie eyed him, looking a bit past concerned and more frightened at this point.  “Okay.”

 

            It was the fastest Thomas had ever gotten ready without actually having somewhere to be or something that needed to get done.  He put on a warmer layer of clothing beneath his coat and picked up the crate from the side of his bed.  He needed to get to the Hunters cabin, but there was one stop he wanted to make on the way. 

            Aris and Kay were kneeling next to a pile of wrapped packages of all sizes and shapes.  Names were already scrawled across most of them but more were still being brought over.  Thomas stopped next to them.

            Kay looked up at him, shadows beneath her eyes and Thomas watched the shift in demeanor as soon as she registered it was him.  The way her shoulders tensed, her teeth clenched and her eyes tightened.

            “Good morning,” Thomas attempted.

            “Thomas!” Aris said, nearly dropping the clipboard in his hands.  The circles beneath his eyes matched Kay’s in a way that made Thomas’ chest ache.  “Hi!”

            “Hi,” he offered a small smile. 

            “What’s wrong?” Kay asked.

            “Well,” Thomas began, eyeing the number of gifts.  “I noticed you might be short on some gifts here.”

            Kay eyed the small pile, but Aris kept his gaze on Thomas, lowering a brow.  “A bit, yeah.”

            “I’d like to contribute,” Thomas said quietly, and then quickly added, “if it’s not too late.”  
  
            “You’d like to contribute,” Aris repeated, face taking on a more puzzled expression.

            Thomas nodded and put the crate down.  “It’s really not much, and I’ll admit I haven’t wrapped anything,” his shoulders curved in as he realized how useless the attempt suddenly seemed.  “I… I realize it’s not very helpful at all, but if you could grab someone who’d be willing to help, I think you might be able to wrap enough of them in time for dinner.” He scratched the back of his head.  “There’s just some small things.  Books, an extra pair of boots,” he shrugged and tucked his hands into his pockets. 

            “You want to give all this out?” Aris asked, eyeing the crate.

            “If it would help,” Thomas said quickly.  “I know it’s not much and it might all just be useless junk, honestly, but if there are any names you haven’t covered yet, maybe they could at leas-.”

            He cut shorts as arms flung around him and a flurry of brown hair pressed against his face.  He blinked and slowly lifted his arms to bring them around Kay’s waist. 

            “Thank you,” she said, stepping back from him.  “This is so wonderful,” she looked down at the crate.  “It should be enough to cover everyone.”

            “You think so?” Thomas asked. “I’m sure I can find more things if we need, just let me know.”

            “Thomas, this is perfect,” Aris answered.  “Are you sure, though?”  
  
            “Absolutely.”

            “Wow,” Aris laughed.  “I don’t know what to even say.”

            “We’ll get wrapping right away,” Kay said.

            “No, no,” Thomas said to her.  “Not you.  You get to the Med Hut and put something on those hands.  I don’t want you straining them or making them worse.  Make sure you let them heal.  No work until you’re okay again, got it?”

            Kay blinked at him.  “But they’re low on-”

            “I don’t care,” Thomas shook his head.  “Go get yourself better.”

            Kay glanced down at Aris, who merely shrugged.  “I can get Cait to help me out.”  
  
            “Okay,” Kay nodded.  “Thank you again, Thomas.”

            “No need to thank me.  I’ve gotta run to see Minho, but thank you both for doing all of this,” he gestured to the gifts.  “It means a lot to everyone, I’m sure.”

 

            Thomas pushed open the door to the Hunting hut and found Minho zipping up his coat.

            “Don’t worry,” Minho said, barely sparing him a glance.  “I kept one of the elk in the freezer.  Secret’s safe.”

            “Bring it to him.”

            Minho paused in his actions and finally looked up at him.  “What?”  
  
            “You heard me,” Thomas nodded and slowly took a step forward, letting the door close gently behind him.  “Bring it to him.”

            Minho lowered a brow.  “What happened to rationing?”

            Thomas shrugged.  “We’ll find a way.  We always have. Even in the Glade, in the Scorch.”

            “Thomas, are you okay?”

            “Yeah, Minho,” he laughed.  “I’m really okay.  Better, in fact.  Better than I’ve been in a long, long time.”

            Minho blinked.  “Did Gally trick you into trying his brew again?”

            “No,” Thomas laughed again, quickly finding it was hard to stop. “Though I could probably use some.”

            “I’m incredibly confused.”  
  
            “Listen, it’s more trouble than it’s worth to explain, but let’s just say I had a strange dream.”

            “Okay,” Minho said slowly.  He seemed to accept this for now and glanced at the freezer.  “Frypan’s gonna think I’m crazy, you know.”  
  
            “I’ll go with you,” Thomas suggested.

            Minho blinked.  “Okay, well he’s definitely going to think _you’re_ crazy.”

            Thomas laughed again.  “Maybe I am.”

 

            The struggled of carrying an entire animal just between the two of them was a bit harder than Thomas expected, but he didn’t mind.  His muscles worked through the weight and he found it was easier simply by keeping a smile on his face.  He greeted a few others as they made their way to the Food Hut, more and more Haveners waking up to start their day. 

            “Thomas, you sure you’re alright?” Minho asked after Thomas insisted they stop so he could help someone string up a light above their tent.

            “Yeah,” he nodded and hoisted his end of the animal up again as they continued walking over.  “I thought a lot about some stuff.”

            “Uh huh…”

            They shouldered their way through the Food Hut and were greeted with frantic shouts and chaotic scampering.

            “Christ,” Thomas breathed.

            “Looks like Havenday,” Minho snorted.

            Thomas nodded at someone by the table closest to them.  “Hey! Can you get Frypan?”

            The boy nearly chopped a finger off when he realized Thomas was there.  He ran off to some part of the Food Hut that was blocked off from view.

            Thomas turned to Minho.  “Am I really that scary?”

            Minho eyed him.  “Honestly, you’re scarier now with that dumbass smile on your face.”

            Thomas blinked at him. 

            “Thomas!” Frypan greeted, pulling gloves off.  “What’s going on?”

            “Hey, Fry,” Thomas nodded at him.  “Happy Havenday.”

            “Happy Havenday,” he panted.  “Everything okay?”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Thomas nodded.  “We wanted to bring you more food for today.”

            Frypan blinked between the two of them.  “What?”

            “We had another of these bad boys,” Minho nodded down at the animal.  “Thomas banged his head in his sleep and decided we should cook it for today.”

            “I didn’t bang my head,” Thomas laughed.  He turned to Frypan.  “Listen, we have a lot of people here, and maybe it’d be smarter to save this for the dead of Winter, but it’s Havenday.  I want to make sure it’s a good celebration.  And you know better than anyone that every celebration starts with good food.”

            Frypan looked at Minho as if to confirm it wasn’t a joke.

            “Dude, same,” Minho nodded at him.

            “Please,” Thomas laughed.  “I’ve been so worried about rationing and making sure everything is planned out that I forgot what it’s like to just relax and enjoy our days.  It’ll take time, but I need to remember WCKD isn’t chasing us anymore.”

            “Well, I agree with you there,” Frypan nodded.  “But are you sure, Thomas?”

            “Absolutely.  We won’t have enough food to go around otherwise and that’s not fair for everyone out there who has worked so hard all year.”

            “Okay.  You’re worrying me a bit, but I’ll admit: I like this new side of you a lot better.”  
  
            Thomas smiled, “thank you, I think.”  
  
            Frypan eyed the animal.  “It’ll take some time to cook.”

            “I’m thinking you can add it to the stew,” Thomas said, shoving his hands in his pockets.  “If it’s not too late to make that.”

            Frypan looked up at him.  “I thought you said-”

            “Forget what I said,” Thomas held up a hand.  “I want you to make it.  I’ve been selfish with how I dealt with… everything that happened.  It’s not fair to everyone.  And I think this could be a way to celebrate rather than mourn.”

            Frypan’s mouth quirked up in a hint of a smile.  “I completely agree.”

            Thomas’ smile grew more.  “Well, get started then! It’s already Havenday and we’ve got hundreds of people out there looking forward to a fun night with good food!”

            “Yes, sir,” Frypan laughed.  He called for three of the others to help him cart the animal to the back.

            Minho slung an arm around Thomas’ shoulders and steered him from the tent.  “Frypan’s definitely right,” he nodded.  “I’m enjoying this side of you a lot more.”

            Thomas laughed and shoved Minho off of him.  He furrowed a brow.  “It’s only today.  We get back to work tomorrow.”  
  
            Minho eyed him, skeptically.

            Thomas glanced up at him.  “I’m serious.”  
  
            “Mhm,” Minho nodded.

            Thomas clenched his teeth but finally broke with a long sigh.  “Okay, fine.  Maybe you’re right.  Maybe this is more permanent.”

            “It’s not a bad thing to be happy, Thomas,” he laughed.

            Thomas ran the words through his head again.  “Listen, I’ve got a few more things I need to get done.  We’ll link up later, yeah?”  
  
            “Sure,” Minho nodded. 

            “Thanks,” Thomas said quietly.

            Minho shrugged as he turned away.  “Nothing to thank _me_ for.”

 

            The sun was fully risen by the time Thomas helped another person situate a small wreath above their tent and another carry a few logs over to the Fire Circle.  He ducked into his tent, grabbed what he needed and made his way across the beach, eyes scanning for Lauren. 

            He found her standing at the Memory Stone, Ethan bundled in her arms as she spoke quietly to him.  Thomas stepped forward cautiously and quietly, not wanting to disturb the moment.

            “See?” she was saying as she pointed to Sam’s name on the stone.  “Sam.  Can you say Sam?”  Her hands brushed softly over the engraving.

            Thomas stepped up quietly next to her.  “I’m sorry.”

            She turned to him, a bit startled.

            “He was a great guy.”

            Lauren blinked at him and then looked back at the Stone.  “He was.”

            “I should have done more.”  Thomas turned to her.  “I know it’s too late now and I can’t change the way things are, but I’d like to do more now to help you and Ethan.”  
  
            She looked at him carefully.  “What do I have to do?”

            “What?”

            “In return,” she clarified.  “Do you need more hours from me?”  
  
            Thomas furrowed a brow. “No.  No, Lauren.  I just want to make things easier for you two.  Better, if I can.”  
  
            She kept the careful look on her face.

            Thomas pointed to a name on the stone.  “He was my friend.”

            Lauren looked at the stone.  “Chuck?”

            Thomas nodded.  “He was a few years younger, more like a little brother than anything.”

            “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

            “You know, we spend so much time apologizing for the people we’ve lost.  Sometimes we forget to celebrate those we haven’t.”

            Lauren looked up at him, brow tilted upwards.

            “I know it’s not much,” he said, reaching into his pocket, “but I’d like Ethan to have this.”  He handed over the small wooden totem Chuck carved all that time ago.  “It was Chuck’s and he gave it to me.  But I’d like Ethan to have it.”  
  
            Lauren looked at the small totem and then back at Thomas as she took it.  “Thank you.”

            “Don’t need to thank me,” Thomas shook his head.  “Consider it a promise to give Ethan the childhood that none of us got to have.”

 

            There was something that felt very light inside of Thomas’ chest as he helped Patrick lift and carry a wooden table toward the bonfire for the feast.  The smile that curled up on his face as some young girl scurried beneath it in a hurry to wherever she was going, the way he had to laugh at himself when he nearly tripped while walking backward – but through all of this, it was the way Patrick kept thanking him for helping him. The way his eyes brightened as Thomas clapped him on the shoulder – it was something that warmed Thomas.

 

            The Med Hut was much quieter compared to the bustling outside on the beach.  Thomas gently let the tent close behind him and waited patiently.

            “Be with you in a moment!” a gruff voice called.

            Thomas eyed the shoddily built cabinet to the left – a broken shelf that had been sealed with peeling medical tape, a rotted bottom and chipped sides.  And on the shelves were scattered labeled crates that were nearly empty. 

            “How can I hel- Thomas!”

            Thomas looked forward and met Jorge’s gaze.

            “Everything alright?”

            “Yeah,” Thomas nodded.  “I just wanted to come by and see how things where in here.”

            Jorge wiped his hands on his jeans and took a breath.  “Going well, I suppose.  No one’s been brought in today, but it’s early,” he punctuated with a nervous laugh.

            “Hopefully no one will be,” Thomas offered through a crooked smile.  His fidgeted with the hem of his coat and looked around the hut.  “Is Joanie here?”

            The only evidence that showed any semblance of surprise was a slight tilt of Jorge’s eyebrows.  “Of course,” he nodded and then pointed over his shoulder.  “In the back hammock.”

            “Is… Can I see her?” Thomas asked.

            Jorge nodded forward with his head and led Thomas to the back of the Hut. 

            Thomas couldn’t remember the last time he’d been back here – or if he ever had.  There were rows of empty hammocks and on the side of the room was a row of four crates with thin, ragged blankets folded inside and a few flattened pillows.  They must have washed and reused them a dozen times.  Thomas made a mental note to organize a day to try to scrounge up more blankets and pillows.  Anything they’d need.

            Joanie rested in a small hammock in the back, long black hair splayed out beneath her, face pale and eyes closed. 

            There was a moment where Thomas’ mind flashed a brief memory of much shorter black hair.  He remembered the way he’d felt when Brenda nearly died, the relief that filled him when they were able to save her.  He’d barely known her, but hadn’t even given a second thought to helping her.  His fists curled in the pockets of his jacket.  When had he become this person?

            “How many serums has she been given?” he asked quietly.

            “Just the one,” Jorge answered.  “Don’t worry.”

            Thomas looked up at him, brows furrowed.  “Don’t worry?”  
  
            “She hasn’t reached her limit,” Jorge explained.

            Thomas’ chest constricted. Of course Jorge assumed he was here to make sure rules were being followed.  Jorge didn’t expect him to come out of decency, to come to check on her.  He looked back down at Joanie and curled his fist in his pocket tighter.  “We’ve lost too many people to this disease,” he said quietly.

            Jorge only watched him.

            “I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

            “I think that’s out of our control, _hermano_.”

            “Is it?” Thomas asked, looking up at him.  He pulled his hand from his pocket and reached it out to Jorge, ignoring the way it shook just slightly, and uncurled his fingers from around the small vial Teresa had given him just before she’d fallen.  “I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

            “What is this?” Jorge asked, taking the small vial.

            “Before Teresa died,” Thomas breathed and cleared his throat, “she figured out a cure.”

            “A cure?” Jorge’s eyes snapped up to Thomas’.

            “I don’t know how, and I don’t know what you’d need, but if you could look into it – figure out how to duplicate it maybe? Or at least use it sparingly to save as many as we can,” Thomas nodded. “I’d like to make sure we all have a better future.  _All_ of us,” he said, looking back down at Joanie.

            “Thomas,” Jorge began and then faded to a stop.

            “Please,” Thomas nodded.  “Maybe Vince will remember something from working with Mary.  Or even Sonya and Harriet. Any of the Right Arm kids.  Someone’s gotta remember how she made the serum.  Maybe they can figure something out with this.”  
  
            “I’ll get them to work on it right away.”  
  
            “Tomorrow,” Thomas corrected.  “Let them enjoy Havenday.”  
           

            And enjoy Havenday, they did.  Thomas joined in helping put together the Fire Circle.  He jumped behind the line in the Food Hut to help Frypan and the others set up plates of food for everyone to start grabbing.  He enjoyed an entire bowl of stew and quickly realized that it really was one of the most delicious things he’d had in a long time. 

            The younger kids opened the wrapped presents and the older ones all joined in after.  Aris handed Thomas his just before sundown.

            “Are you sure?” Thomas asked.  “I’m sure there’s someone else here who would like another.”

            “Everyone gets one,” Aris insisted.  “It’s nothing big anyway.  Just something to open, really.”  
  
            Thomas looked down and unwrapped the small package.  There was a small twine bracelet with small stones wrapped in it.  “You made this?” Thomas asked him.

            “I didn’t,” Aris shook his head. “But someone here did,” he shrugged.  “Part of the fun of the gift giving is that no one puts their name on the packages.  They just hand them over into the pile and we pick them at random and write peoples’ names on them.  It’s not about the giver receiving credit.”

            “It’s about sharing,” Thomas nodded.  “Working together and having something from everyone in a way.”

            “Yeah,” Aris smiled. 

            Thomas slid the bracelet over his hand and let it fall to his wrist.  “It’s like a little piece of the Haven.”  He looked across at the others all opening packages and showing contents to one another.  “And everyone gets something.”  
  
            “This year, at least,” Aris laughed quietly.  “It’s been tough in the past, but thanks to you everyone was able to get one actually.”

            Thomas looked up at him.  “And they will every year.  From now on.”

            Aris’ smile grew.  “I think everyone would like that.”  
  
            Thomas’ mind swirled with plans for the following year – having the weeks leading up to it with designated off days for everyone to work on creating a small gift to give, but only if they could.  It wouldn’t be mandatory.  Very little would be mandatory from now on.

 

            When the sun was saying its goodbye and the food had pretty much been devoured, Thomas excused himself from his conversation with some of the others and walked down by the Stone Jetty.  The smell of smoke and something very sweet reached him as he crossed over it and his eyes landed on the bright flames of the small bonfire. 

            He tucked his hands into his pockets and steeled himself before he walked over.  Laughter and a staticky radio greeted his ears as he caught sight of Sonya being twirled underneath someone’s arm.  He stopped just a few feet away and cleared his throat softly.

            “Thomas!” Sonya greeted.  She ducked out of Harriet’s arms and jogged over to him.  “You came!”

            Thomas swallowed and shifted his gaze past her to see the others watching him skeptically.  He looked back at Sonya.  “Can you forgive a narrow-minded tyrant for having no eyes to see with, no ears to hear with, all this time?”

            Sonya’s smile grew beneath glowing brown eyes, her blushed cheeks framed by blonde hair.  “Of course,” she laughed.  “Come join us!”

            Thomas looked around at the others, heart pounding in his chest.

            Harriet offered a small, tight-lipped smile but nodded a greeting to him.  Minho’s smile was a bit more pronounced and eased the tension built inside Thomas’ head. 

            “Ricky found a station that’s got music playing,” Sonya said excitedly.  “Would you like to dance?”

            “I don’t know,” Thomas laughed and scratched the back of his head.  “I think I’d need some time before I get the courage for that.”

            Sonya laughed and waved an arm to the small gathering.  “Well, enjoy. It’s not much, but it’s ours.”

            Thomas smiled a thank you to her and looked around at the others.

            Brenda walked up to him and pushed a small mason jar into his hands. “Here.  It’ll help with the dancing.”

            Thomas laughed and took the jar from her.  “Thanks.”

            “It’s pretty good,” Brenda shrugged.

            Thomas looked just past her to where Gally was sitting on a small rock watching them.  Thomas lifted the jar in greeting and was relieved when Gally did the same. 

            “Come on,” Brenda nodded to the side.  “Have a seat.  Tell us what happened to remove the giant stick up your ass.”

            Thomas coughed on the harsh drink and earned a warm laugh from her.  “Can we just skip all that and you just take my word that it’s permanently gone?” he smiled.

            “Sure, sure,” Brenda waved him off. “Not up for boring stories anyway.  We’re in the middle of a game.”

            “A game?” Thomas asked, following her to the side next to Gally and three other boys.

            “I’ll teach you,” Brenda pointed to the rock across the circle as she took a seat next to Gally – quite closely, Thomas noted as he took his assigned seat.

           

            The night wore on and Thomas had barely even noticed when the sun disappeared beneath the Sea. The music was still going, Sonya and Harriet spun each other round and round all night, eventually joined by Brenda and Gally.  Frypan managed to pull Thomas up at one point and made him join in the group dancing and he soon realized that it was easy to follow. 

            When his legs grew tired and he excused himself to catch his breath, he took a seat next to Minho.

            “I’ve gotta say,” Minho nodded.  “I thought maybe you’d just barely gotten any sleep last night and were delirious this morning, but I guess this all really is happening huh?”

            Thomas looked over at him and considered his words.  “I’ve spent too long being angry about everything that went on – everything we went through.  I never gave myself a chance to believe that something good could come out of it all.”  
  
            Minho nodded and looked down at his drink. “Yeah, I get that.  What changed your mind?”

            Thomas took another deep breath and exhaled slowly.  “It’s a long story, one that I’d rather not get into, but let’s just say it was an odd dream.”  
  
            Minho let out a small laugh. “Okay. Whatever you say, man. Just glad you’re okay.”  
  
            “I am,” Thomas nodded. “I really am.”  They sat in silence for another minute before Thomas made a decision.  “Minho, before Newt… before he went through everything, at the end, I mean,” he swallowed, words jumbling in his throat.

            Minho eyed him carefully with patience.

            Thomas took a breath and started again.  “Before Newt died, he gave me something.”  Thomas reached into his pocket and took out the final thing he wanted to address tonight.

            “The necklace,” Minho nodded.  “I remember.”  
  
            “It’s more than that.”  Thomas unscrewed the small capsule and removed the scrolled paper – still intact, barely worn.  “He wrote me a letter.”  
  
            Minho continued to watch him, listening.

            “I think you deserve to read it, too.” Thomas said, handing over the small scroll.

            “Are you sure?” Minho asked, gently taking it.

            Thomas nodded.  “You were one of his best friends.  You deserve to know.”

            “It’s addressed to you,” Minho said as he un-scrolled it.  “Are you sure you want to share it?”

            “Absolutely,” Thomas nodded.  “I’ve been holding this inside of me for too long.  I kept telling myself it was only for me, but I think I need to share it.  I think, maybe I need to talk about it.  And not now!” he quickly added. “But one day.  One day when we’re both ready.  When Frypan and Gally are both ready.”

            “I’d like that,” Minho said quietly.  “I think they would, too.”  Minho gently took the necklace from Thomas and put the small scroll into the capsule.  He slowly screwed it back shut and looked at it for a minute beneath furrowed brows.  “Thank you for showing me this.”

            Thomas nodded.  “I’m sorry it took so long.”

            “No, I get it.”  Minho took a deep breath.  “I can’t read it now, but I’m glad I know about it.  Maybe one day, but not yet.”

            Thomas nodded.  “When you’re ready, it’s here.”

            “And when you’re ready, we’re here.”

            Thomas twisted his mouth in a small smile.

            “Hey!” Brenda’s voice shouted across the circle, a bit louder than necessary.

            Thomas and Minho both looked up to see her waving to them (and nearly toppling off balance had it not been for Gally). 

            “You two gonna just sit there all night? Havenday is almost over! Come on!”

            Thomas’ smile grew a bit wider as he let out a small laugh and stood.  He looked down to Minho.  “Come on.”

            “Oh no,” Minho shook his head. “I don’t dance. Never have, never will.”

            Thomas reached down and pulled Minho up.  “Yeah, that’s what I always said, too.  If I can change, so can you.”  
  
            Minho gave him a hard look.

            Thomas shrugged. “It’s Havenday.”

            “One dance,” Minho warned.

            “One dance,” Thomas agreed.

 

            It was nearly six songs later that the small group was still circling around each other, smoke tendrils reaching into the air high above them.  Thomas’ chest was light and airy for the first time in so many months.  He no longer turned away from Sonya’s brown eyes, waved off Frypan’s Glade stories and blamed Gally for his actions.  He no longer regretted the choices he made and punished himself for what was out of his control.  He slowly realized that all he could do was enjoy what he could with the people who were still around.  He still had friends, he still had family.  And even those whom he’d lost would always be with him.  Through spins and laughter and smiles and clinked glasses, Thomas saw flashes of Alby, of Teresa, of Chuck, of Winston and Ben and Zart – no longer swathed in chains or shadows or darkness, but as he’d known them.  Smiles and laughter, pride and wonder.  And through it all, after the spirits faded from vision and the bonfire became embers, the night had quieted and the radio was more static than music, Thomas could see Newt just on the edge of the shore.  And it wasn’t black plated eyes and dark veins that looked back at him, but a gentle smile and a surrounding glow that reminded Thomas it was okay to enjoy life after, it was okay to have fun and laugh.  Overall, it was okay to be happy.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**EPILOGUE**

 

 

            Thomas was better than his word.  He became as good a friend and as good a brother as he could.  The Haven became the sanctuary it had always been meant to become.  Schedules were eased back and reigns loosened – just a bit to keep the place in order but no longer as a prison.  Joanie was on her feet a week later, joining in festivities.  Some from the Right Arm were able to start studying the cure and begin experiments on how to duplicate it without draining the Immunes around them, of course.  Years went on and the Haven grew and expanded.  More people joined, stronger huts were built and the community kept progressing.  Families started and grew, land expanded and through it all, Thomas was there.  He was present for every event, both good and bad, and helped when he could.  The days were much brighter in the Haven and soon, Thomas came to realize that, though mistakes were made in his past – he was able to look back and know that he wouldn’t change a thing. He’d found a way to do what he knew to be right.  He found a way to take care of everyone, and to take care of himself.  And, as Newt had always hoped for him, he found a way to be happy.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! Thanks for making it all the way through! Hope you enjoyed this bizarre canon-compliant out-of-character AU lol Merry Christmas, happy holidays, etc.
> 
> Is it cheesy to end this wi- i'm just gonna do it lmao. 
> 
>  
> 
> As Tiny Tim once observed: God bless us everyone.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (Tiny Tim loves tea. So do I.)  
> http://ko-fi.com/comebacknow


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